


Hermione Granger And The Quest For Merlin's Blessing

by Tom_Haskworth



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Mystery, Romance, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-24 04:27:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 61,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4905448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tom_Haskworth/pseuds/Tom_Haskworth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
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    <td>Explores the close, loving friendship between Hermione and Harry mainly from Hermione's viewpoint. Is it enough to form a devoted life-partnership even if they're not romantically in love? Might their love be just as true? And if so, what could bring them together? The story is fluffy, sometimes sensual, but never smutty or crude, and, of course, has the touch of magic.<br/>
<br/>
This one story is in four parts (all within this fic) denoting alternate universes, and ending in fire, air, water, and earth - all connected by Merlin's Blessing so the links might feel surreal. Just go with it and all will make sense in the end.
</td>
</tr>
</tbody></table>
            </blockquote>





	1. Present Tension: Innocent Affections

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**Part 1: Present Tension**

  
  
  


**Chapter 1**

**Innocent Affections**

  
  
  


Prologue 

The soft round angles of snow encrusting the study window had diminished a wintry morning's daylight, and the writer at his desk lit an extra candle. 

"Dad, why don't you use your wand for that?" 

"I love the smell when you strike a match." 

There was a comfortable silence for a few seconds, gently lifted by a few deep sniffs of curiosity and the scratching of a quill on a greetings card. 

"Daddy, can I wear that shirt?" 

"Mmm?" The quill stopped. "That? It's a boy's really, not a girl's, and it's ripped. Bit big for you, anyway." 

"Why'd you have it pinned up on your remembrance wall if it's ripped?" 

"Just memorabilia." 

"And that penknife hung up next to it? What's it for?" 

"Same." 

"But why, Daddy?" 

"They remind me of absent friends, darling. People I knew... so I never forget them." 

"Do I know them?" 

"In a way." 

"Is that when you were very little?" 

"No, but quite young — older than you. The shirt fit me when it was new." 

"But what happened?" 

"You're too small. I'll tell you when you're older." 

"I'm ELEVEN in the new year!" 

The sound of a little foot stamping on a tiled hearth was followed by a short pause then... a very long sigh from the area of the desk. 

"I don't suppose you're going to give me any peace until I tell you about it, are you?" 

The young girl giggled. 

"You must not repeat this story to anyone else, alright? It's family." 

"I promise." 

"It's quite a long tale. Sit down here in the warm then and make yourself comfortable. Hold my hand during the scary bits, okay? And... the sad parts too... 

"It begins in my fourth year at Hogwarts — no, actually I suppose it begins at the end of the year before that, going home on the Hogwarts Express. Yes, it all began, curiously enough, with a scrap of rubbish — I'd almost forgotten that. It altered absolutely everything. Perhaps it was not chance after all..." 

  


Crookshanks's Discovery

It had been another difficult year at Hogwarts. The apparent threat of Sirius Black had been stressful for Harry and his friends. At least it was over and yet... there was an air of wistfulness as they departed for their summer holidays. 

Hermione looked up from her book to scowl at the mess of sweet wrappers that littered the floor of their carriage on the Hogwarts Express. "Ronald, you do realise some poor house-elf has to clean up after you?" 

Ron shook his head. "Does it itself." 

"What does?" 

It was not easy for Ron to speak with his mouth half full but he was well practised. "The train vanishes all the trash itself at the end of every journey. Honestly, haven't you even read the Magical Traveller's Handbook?" 

Hermione pinked and blinked slightly, as if she had overlooked revision for a test. Mortified, she stared at his bulging cheeks for a few moments, watching him chew, assessing his expression — then her shoulders relaxed. 

"You just made that up." 

Harry couldn't hold himself in any longer and exploded out a great belly laugh. Ron spluttered and grinned a tight grin, just managing not to lose the contents of his mouth. 

"Not funny," huffed Hermione. "Look at it all..." She waved her arm floorward. "What have you got there, Crookshanks?" 

Her cat was pawing a screwed-up scrap which rolled away to rebound off Harry's shoe then back repeatedly. Ron, sitting at Harry's side, wiped his mouth. "Can't blame me for that; looks like parchment. I never touch parchment outside of school — matter of principle," he said loftily, and not entirely truthfully. 

Ron glanced up past Harry's shoulder and out through the sunlit window. "It's going to be a great summer..." 

"Maybe it came with Sirius's letter, Harry," said Hermione. 

Harry shook his head and happily waved his Hogsmeade permission slip like a celebratory flag. He had been clutching it ever since Sirius's little owl had delivered it to their compartment. 

Before he could draw breath to speak, Hermione continued, "Sirius only said he was enclosing something — he never said it was only one thing." 

Harry shrugged, yawned, and lounged back further in his seat, pretending to doze. Ron opened up another Chocolate Cauldron and jauntily flicked the wrapper onto the floor. It instantly caught Crookshanks attention. The screwed-up parchment forgotten, it rolled away into a corner. Hermione returned fixedly to her book with an expression of deep resignation. 

A tiny smile crept onto Harry's face as his half-closed eyes watched her, waiting... waiting... 

"Ooh!" she sighed and jumped down to search the floor on her hands and knees. Harry sniggered. 

She retrieved the piece of litter — which did indeed turn out to be wrapped-up parchment — and sat down again with the superior air of a fisherman whose neighbours had suffered empty nets all day. 

"There's something inside." Her fingers half-parted the enfolding sheet. "Should I open it, you think?" 

"Hermione, it's just rubbish," said Harry. 

That decided her. A little gasp followed. "They're..." Whatever the contents were, she did not say, but turned her attention instead to the parchment itself which she flattened out and smoothed across her knees, staring at the writing thereon. Ron and Harry yielded to their curiosity, straightened up in their seats opposite her, and leaned forward, if not eagerly, at least with inquisitiveness. 

Hermione's eyes widened. Next, her mouth fell open. Her voice noticeably trembled when she spoke. "Harry..." She held out both the document and its contents to her friend who accepted it with a puzzled frown. 

"What's it say, Harry?" said Ron. 

Harry's mouth gaped wider than Hermione's. His eyes moved back and forth from the parchment to its contents then back again. 

"You were right... uuh..." He did not look up but Ron knew Harry's apologetic tone was aimed at Hermione. 

He read it out, " _Harry, your dad gave me these for safekeeping and I've kept them in my vault. He never said, but I think they're to do with his bookshelves. If so, be careful; Lily told me they'd been unnerved by a spectre and you probably know how terrible they can be. — Sirius._ " 

Ron released a low whistle. "Yeah, they're almost as bad as demons — real nasty if you annoy them — worse because you can't strike back; they're not solid." 

But two items lay upon the crumpled sheet and Harry was lifting up the first to examine it. 

"Looks like a wristwatch," said Ron. He frowned. "Bit girly..." 

"My mum's... must have been," said Harry. There was a reverence to his tone as if he had made contact with something very special. "And..." 

He held up a tiny book between his thumb and forefinger. "Do you think I should enlarge it?" 

"No, Harry — I think you should restore it," said Hermione. 

Harry looked puzzled for only a moment then, as Ron edged away to make room, he placed the objects and the document on the upholstered seat between them and drew out his wand. 

"Finite." 

The soft-bound pages swelled generously, but even so, Hermione's discovery remained quite a modest pocketbook. There was no title on the cover, only the well-worn shape of a heart gilded into the brown leather. Harry flipped through the pages but appeared non-committal. "Runes." He passed it over to Hermione and turned his attention to the watch. "Still ticking! That's... ah, probably Sirius wound it up." He conveyed an air of disappointment. Perhaps, thought Ron, he had hoped for a sensation of active contact from his parents: life where there was none. 

Harry's fingers explored the surface of the little watch. The knurled winder on one edge he could feel was a tiny heart shape but otherwise, the device remained just an ordinary clockwork timepiece and nothing more. He looked up hopefully at Hermione. 

"I'm sorry, but the book's nothing special. Just everyday potion notes, I think. The first is for a headache relief. I'd need to study it to be sure but it looks like that's all it is." 

"But why Runes?" 

"Perhaps your dad was comfortable with Runes? Lots of people like to have a bit of privacy with their notes." 

He looked back at the watch and frowned. "This has Runes too — the numbers on the dial, I mean." 

He handed it to her. She examined it closely then laid it with its soft beige leather strap open upon her wrist to judge the effect. 

The train slowed a little to clack forcefully across a set of points. Ron fidgeted on his seat. 

"Hermione..." said Harry. 

She looked up, startled. "Sorry, I wasn't thinking..." She offered it back. 

"No, no... I..." He hesitated, seeming confused. 

Hermione and Ron exchanged glances, the watch still dangling from her outstretched hand. 

"I was just visualising my mum wearing it," Harry explained himself at last. "It was odd when you did that." 

He still didn't take the watch so after a few seconds she withdrew her arm and went through the motions of re-examining it. 

"Back in a minute," said Ron, having rapidly become bored by the mundane objects and the transient distraction of the message. He slid open the compartment door and headed out to the toilet further along. 

"It's quite delicate," observed Hermione, "and simple — I mean it's a lovely piece of jewellery, but..." 

"Ordinary?" said Harry. 

"No, I definitely wouldn't call it ordinary. I like it a lot because it's understated yet it kind of... whispers quality." 

"Try it on," he said. 

She did not hesitate. Harry had the impression she had been hoping he would let her. 

Her eyes smiled with surprise. "Why, it fits perfectly!" 

Harry laughed softly. "Well, it's a leather strap, Hermione! You buckle it where it fits." 

She shook her head. "No, the strap kinks slightly where she... where your mum used to buckle it." 

"Let me see..." He half-crouched his bottom the couple of paces over to her and swung himself round onto the seat at her side without taking his eyes off the watch. "But you're only..." 

"Fourteen years old," she whispered darkly, leaning forward in a conspiratorial manner as if it were a great secret shared. "Fifteen in a couple of months." 

He glanced down at her and his eyebrows wrinkled up. "I thought you handed in that Time-turner?" 

Her hand went to the slender chain at her throat then tugged up her neckline to cover it. "This is just a copy for nostal— for old times' sake!" She burst out laughing, surprised by the emergence of her own wit. "When we're middle-aged, we can reminisce about school and the things we did. I like old things, don't you?" 

"But does it work? I mean—!" 

"Of course not! You don't think it would be that easy, do you? Magical items are different, dangerous, and unreliable when copied. Anyway, we were talking about this watchstrap." 

Harry blinked at the sudden redirection of his thoughts. 

Hermione refreshed his memory, "I'm fourteen? My wrist is slender? Your mum was, what? Twenty-odd?" 

"Oh, yes, that's what I meant; and she doesn't look particularly thin in any of the photos that Hagrid gave me. Show me where the strap..." 

He took her hand to steady it when she held it out palm upwards and he leaned down to peer closely at the buckle, prodding his spectacles back firmly with his free hand to get the best focus then squinting hard. 

"Your eyesight really is terrible, Harry." 

"Tell me about it," he moaned. "But good enough that I can see what you mean." 

He turned her hand over and looked at the watch itself. "Hermione, I think she was wearing this very watch in the latest pictures — but as you said, she must have been twenty at least!" 

"Then it's enchanted," said Hermione. 

As the declaration of magic hung in the air, they both became aware that her hand was resting in his, and for either of them to break that friendly contact, while not offensive to the other, might draw attention to it — which neither wanted. The feeling magnified ridiculously second by second, but they couldn't keep holding hands forever... 

She smiled. "We still think like Muggles, you and I, much of the time anyway. Look..." She turned over her hand again, knowing it would pull away innocently from his in the process, then, without opening the strap buckle, she moved the watch higher up her forearm. "Still fits perfectly." She took it off and handed it back to him. 

His attention fixed on the watch face, he retreated backwards onto his own seat just as Ron approached the still open doorway. But Ron paused, talking to someone out of sight down the corridor: it sounded like Fred. Crookshanks jumped up beside Hermione and stared disdainfully at Harry as if claiming the seat beside his mistress was exclusively his own by right. 

"I wonder why the Runes, though?" mused Harry, aloud. "My mum was very smart, I know that..." he added proudly, "Loads of NEWTS and stuff... I bet her name is on tons of awards and trophies." 

"Lily... Her name was Lily, wasn't it?" said Hermione. 

"Yeah. My dad's name was James but she was the brainy one..." 

She watched him thinking about his mother — with his eyes looking through the watch, far off into the distance. While Hermione knew he regarded Ron as the very best of _his_ friends, she already knew by then that Harry would always be hers. Ron was more fun of course, and that was one of several things that attracted her to him now he had grown. She giggled inwardly; once his mind caught up with his age perhaps he'd take more notice of her! But it was Harry that needed her support over the coming months, and perhaps years. He was deeper, more sensitive and considerate, and she knew that was why she sometimes tried too hard to be good company for him. 

She prayed then for Ginny's chances. With all he had suffered, it was unthinkable that Harry should be lonely later in life. They would be perfect together and Hermione resolved to do all in her power to help them find happiness with each other. If only he could see what was right under his nose! Ginny seemed to have lost heart over the last few months and if Harry didn't give her any encouragement soon then she would begin to lose interest. Hermione had suggested to Ginny that she spend time with someone else to see if that produced a reaction in Harry. 

"Ron, where's Ginny?" she called. 

Ron came fully back inside the compartment then. "Dunno. With her friends, I think." 

"Who?" 

"That funny little blonde girl; don't know her name. Oh, and Neville's with them I think." His attention turned to Harry. "So, you two figured it out yet?" 

"Figured what out?" clashed Harry and Hermione together. They glanced at each other. 

"What that watch and the book mean?" He turned his head in the direction of the doorway as if he had heard a question asked outside. "YEAH!" Ron hollered. 

Harry scrabbled around for Sirius's parchment to rewrap the watch. Hermione held out the little book. 

"Don't you want to study it?" said Harry. 

"Well, yes, I'd love to but, I mean, it's an heirloom... It's your dad's." 

"Hang on to it for a bit then." He hesitated, then leaned forward with the watch. "You might as well keep this with it as well." 

"No, Harry!" she said, but as he had put it between her fingers, Hermione found she had taken it anyway. 

"It's not as if you're going anywhere in the next couple of years is it, Hermione?" laughed Harry. "Anyway, I think there's some special connection between them." 

"Wooooo!" grinned Ron, wiggling his raised fingers in flimsy imitation of a sudden ghostly apparition. 

"Why'd you think that?" she asked Harry, ignoring Ron's sneer. 

"Dunno. Just do." 

"What, just because they've both got Runes on them?" 

"And they both belong to one or both of my parents," said Harry, firmly. "Look, if anyone can work out what it means then it'll be you, Hermione, not me." 

"What what means, Harry? As I said, it's probable that your dad liked Runes and he bought your mum the watch as a gift." 

"Well, I think the book is your mum's and she bought the watch for your dad," scoffed Ron, sounding rather bored with the whole matter. "I mean, if it's a magic watch then it'll fit anyone." 

"Were you listening!" cried Hermione. 

Ron appeared baffled. "Listening to what?" He looked back and forth from Harry to Hermione. "All I said was if it's a magic watch then it'll fit anyone! They all do — well, mostly, anyway. What's wrong with that?" 

"Oh... right." She flushed slightly and busied herself securing the items safely within her bag. 

_What was that all about?_ she mused, as Ron and Harry commenced to chat about the coming Quidditch cup final planned for the summer. She felt strange, as if something important had moved within their space but she didn't know what, and there was nobody to advise, no book she might attend, not even a question she could frame. 

  


A Little Success

Hermione's odd sensation persisted through the summer weeks despite the distraction of the Quidditch World Cup Final that the three went to, together with the Weasleys. She tried to appease the queer feeling whenever she could by studying Harry's father's book — she felt certain it was a man's handwriting — but apart from progressing with the translation, she still felt she had an itch to scratch. Back at The Burrow, she did make one discovery, but it merely added to her curiosity. 

"It's a failure," she murmured, loud enough for Ron and Harry and Ginny to hear. They were crowded into Ron's room and had mostly been discussing events at the cup match. Ginny, to Hermione's delight, had avoided sitting in the obvious place beside Harry on his bed and instead took the more distant window seat while she, herself, was curled up on Ron's bed with several books spread around her. Ron was lounged in the chair next to his sister, occasionally glancing out at the worsening weather. 

"It's a failure," Hermione repeated more loudly, when no one responded. 

Harry looked lazily across at her so, encouraged by the tiny bit of interest shown, she continued, "The headache cure — your dad definitely says, ' _But it_ only _relieves megrims and sore heads!_ ' 

"Hermione, you're supposed to be on holiday!" said Ron. "All these weeks and that's it? Harry's dad failed to cure a headache?" 

"No, it's the other way round. It _does_ cure headaches — and migraines too." 

"But you said it's a failure!" spluttered Ron, becoming slightly exasperated. 

"What does it mean, then?" said Ginny, sensing there was more to it. 

"It means," sighed Hermione in a some-people-do-not-listen-properly sort of voice, "that he was trying to make something else but it only cures headaches." 

  


Their Darkest Secrets

"Bagsy this line! Come on, Ron!" Ginny giggled and started on the south row where the fattest, most succulent blackberries were growing in greater abundance than elsewhere. 

Hermione frowned. There is no higher authority than a bagsy but it wasn't that Ginny and Ron had bagged the best spot for themselves that was annoying her; Hermione was beginning to seriously doubt her plans for Harry and Ginny. She liked the idea of him having glimpses of her with other boys at Hogwarts to stimulate his jealousy and make him realise she was the one for him, but if it also meant he would see less of Ginny — whoever she was with — then that might be counter-productive. Hermione thrust her basket down at the start of the opposite row, resigned to the fact that Harry and she herself would be moving further and further away from the young redheaded girl. 

The bushes were exceptionally varied in height, many were five or six feet, while others were much lower, so they had some stretching and bending and crouching to do. As they worked their way quietly along, plucking the ripe fruit and Harry occasionally stuffing one in his mouth to evoke a glare from Hermione, he smiled. Theirs was a comfortable relationship and rarely was there significant friction between them. Birds were twittering in the orchard further along, bees and other insects buzzed through the warm air; life was good and Harry felt part of it all. 

"I wish I'd had..." 

"What do you wish, Harry?" 

Harry remained silent for a few moments. "A brother." 

"You're thinking of when you were younger?" 

"Yeah," he said, "just seems a waste to have been stuck with Dudley. We never shared any activities like this." 

"At least you had a sort of... brother — _sort of_ , I said," she emphasised when Harry snorted. "I was stuck on my own." She sounded wistful, Harry thought. She noticed his expression. "Oh, I had some acquaintances at school, but nobody I'd call a best friend." 

As they progressed, Hermione forgot about Ginny, and even Ron for a while. "Oh, look, there are a few early apples!" She pointed ahead into the orchard as they approached the far end of the row. 

Harry glanced around. Mrs Weasley was a very distant figure in the kitchen window of The Burrow. "Come on, let's nick a couple!" 

"Harry!" cried Hermione. "No way! Come back here!" 

He paused at the gap in the hedge. "Come on, it'll be fun. Ron's mum won't mind." 

Hermione scowled and it seemed to Harry that she almost dug her heels into the soft earth. _Why do girls always have to be so damned..._ He turned his back on her and pushed into the gap. He stopped immediately and returned to her — they had been enjoying the morning until that moment. 

"You really are the most... purest... erm..." he smiled. 

"It's called being honest, Harry." She lifted her nose in that superior manner she had, secretly pleased that perhaps she had influenced him for once. 

They continued around the end of the row on the other side. She peered into the bright haze. Ron and Ginny had not yet reached the end of their row, yet their own basket was half full already. Maybe it's not how many berries there are but how fast you pick them! 

"Come on, Harry, we can beat them!" 

Harry laughed and proceeded in a happy state of mind. He even refrained for a while from eating the odd blackberry — until he spotted a really big, juicy one. Hermione playfully slapped the back of his hand and he smudged it onto his nose. 

"Oy!" 

As he wiped his face, he said, "So... you've never, ever pinched even so much as a... pen or something? Not even a paperclip?" 

"Well..." Her cheeks went slightly pink. 

"Ah-hah!" He grinned. "Come on, 'fess up." 

She shook her head. 

"Oh come on, it's only you and me." He saw her wall of resistance so tried a different tactic. "I swear as an honourable Gryffindor never to reveal your evil secret to another living soul for as long as I live." He placed his fist across his heart. 

"There's nothing; nothing happened," she huffed, stretching down to move the basket along a few steps. 

"Mmm..." He could see he would have to play his reserve card and make the ultimate sacrifice. "Okay, I swear to tell you my darkest secret if you tell me yours. How's that?" 

She glanced at his expression. He was smiling but he looked very serious. 

"Why should I want to know your secrets?" she said. 

_She's interested!_ Harry thought to himself. "Oh, well then..." he said nonchalantly. 

They carried on picking in silence, their fingers stained with juice. 

"You swear not to tell anyone?" she murmured, in the pretence of thinking to herself. 

"Yes, if you also swear." 

The basket was moved along a little and they continued their harvesting. She was tough; Harry himself was beginning to crack. The suspense grew... 

"Alright, I'll tell you," she said finally. 

Harry turned to listen. 

"I was about three or four years old and wanted an ice cream but Mum said no." She looked at Harry to see if he was smirking but he wasn't; he looked sympathetic. So, encouraged, she continued, "A button had come off my cardigan and my mum had put it in her purse to sew it back on later. You realise," she added hastily, "I had no sense of money at that age?" He nodded. "Anyway, she had left her purse on the sideboard after she had paid the baker's boy..." 

She tailed off and Harry prompted her to continue. "What happened then, Hermione." 

"I... I took the button from her purse — I mean it was my button wasn't it?" she said defensively, "I sneaked out to the corner shop. I couldn't understand why the man wouldn't take my button in exchange for a cornet. Mum scolded me a little bit when I got back but I heard her laughing with Dad in the kitchen after." 

Harry stared. "That's it? A button?" 

"Yes, but Mum's purse..." she said with a tone of awed reverence. 

"Well, I'm sure she forgave you," Harry said kindly. 

"And you won't tell anyone?" 

"Of course not. Cross my heart." 

They were little kids again, reliving their childhood as the siblings they never were but had both ached for, perhaps without realising what was missing to cause such longing. 

He cleared his throat as if he were going to make an announcement then hesitated. She could tell by the way his eyes were swivelling about and inwardly focused that he was trying to think of some alternative. 

"You swore, Harry! Your _darkest_ secret! Nothing less!" 

His shoulders sagged. "It's nothing really. I was nine. I used to get books from our local library." 

"You read books?" she said, trying not to sound too sarcastic. 

"Yeah — fantasy and space fiction and stuff like that. Then there'd be ones like hang gliding or bicycle maintenance — how to fix a tyre puncture — not that I ever had a bike of my own but..." 

"Go on." 

"So, I only had two tickets... well, it wasn't that really..." 

"What wasn't?" 

"Nothing. I borrowed a book without a ticket." 

"What! But that's..." She stopped herself saying 'stealing' and instead tried to change direction. "What was the book?" 

Harry blushed miserably. "I can't remember now. Anyway, I—" 

"You swore to tell!" 

He hesitated then mumbled, "It was babies but I got lots of different books over the years. I like aeroplane ones and rockets and—" 

"It was what?" 

"What was what?" 

"The book you took without a ticket?" 

"Erm.. babies — but I got it by mistake." 

"Babies? You mean, how to make babies?" Her eyes widened. 

"I meant to take it back, honestly! I was scared to. I burnt it on the bonfire." 

They resumed their berry-picking and didn't speak for a while. Never before had Hermione appreciated with such intensity the depth and desperation of Harry's isolation. 

"You won't tell anyone? You won't tell Ron?" His eyes bulged. "Oh God, you won't tell Ginny?" 

"Of course not. I swore." 

  


Back to School

Summer was over all too soon; the Hogwarts Express was clattering them back to Hogwarts to start the new school year. Ron was in conversation with Harry but Harry was doing most of the listening. Hermione was still slightly put-out. She had reached the limit of her own abilities in discovering the meaning of the Runes in Harry's little book. Ron had lost all interest and tended to wander off if the subject came up. Harry seemed inclined to trust her entirely to solve the mystery. And Ginny... Well, Ginny seemed unconcerned about anything except meeting with or at least exchanging owls with Neville and her other friend. Hermione wondered if her plan had backfired and hoped Ginny would not get too involved with Neville. Perhaps she ought to have focused on helping Ginny and Harry get talking together more while they were all at The Burrow together instead of... 

She sighed, put away the little book and looked out of the window at the scenery flashing by. Harry's face was reflected in the glass looking at her and shaking his head. 

"Don't push yourself so hard, Hermione," he said. "Not for me. There might not be any special meaning in them." 

"Then why were they given to Sirius for safekeeping?" 

Harry did not have any answer. 

"I mean, the watch might be a nice family heirloom they wanted you to have but the book..." She frowned. "Did you keep Sirius's message?" 

"Erm..." 

She tilted her head on one side. "I can't remember if he said when they gave them to him." A sudden thought struck her. "You don't suppose ... no." 

"What?" 

Ron made a noise between a sigh and a groan and went out into the corridor to look at the view from the other side of the train. 

"I just wondered if... Well, they obviously knew they were in danger. Harry, do you think, near the end, I mean, they... But why these particular things? Doesn't it puzzle you, Harry? They're your parents." 

"Well, yes, but what can I do?" He grinned. "Hermione, you're my best hope." 

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Harry, you don't seem to take things seriously enough! You nearly got killed by those horrible Dementors by the lake last year. Now the Dark Mark cast at the cup match with your wand! What if You-know-who should return? I worry about you, you know." 

Harry's grin disappeared rapidly. "Do you think I don't worry as well! Trouble seems to follow me whatever I do. Sometimes I just wish I could... escape it all completely somehow." 

She started biting her lip, wondering what to say. He relented. 

"Look, Hermione, you're a brilliant friend, but trust me, I do enough worrying for both of us." 

But as the journey continued, and now that she had reminded herself of his vulnerability, she did worry. She wanted to cast an everlasting shield about him if only so she, herself, could relax. Perhaps, she tried to think positively to herself, this term won't be so bad, and she was fretting about nothing. They were fourth years now; surely they knew enough magic to keep out of trouble? 

Towards the end of the opening feast in the Great Hall, she was encouraged in her optimism by the announcement of an inter-school tournament that hopefully might, for once, divert attention from the 'Boy who lived.' Still... 

"It's okay to wear it, Hermione," smiled Harry, as they made their way up the stairs to their common room. 

"Sorry? Oh..." She pinked slightly as she realised she had been toying absentmindedly with his mother's watch. "I didn't like to..." 

"Don't encourage her, Harry," said Ron. 

That made up her mind and once they were seated in the common room, she put it on and held up her wrist to admire the effect. Harry could see she looked quite taken with it. He hesitated for a few moments... 

"Hermione..." 

"Mmm...?" 

"I'd like you to have it," he said finally. 

Hermione's eyes flashed wide and she began to take off the watch. "No, Harry." 

"It's for friendship," he added hastily, flushing sligphtly when he realised how it looked. Ron gawped at him. 

Harry made up his mind. "I want you to have it — so long as..." 

"So long as we're friends?" she said. "We'll always be friends, Harry." She held the watch, biting her lip, wanting it dearly, but reluctant to take a family heirloom, something that was so personal. 

"No, well, yes, no, what I meant was, so long as I might see it now and again?" 

She yielded a little then yet still hating herself that she wanted it so badly without understanding why. Of course, anyone could see it was a really nice watch... "For friendship, Harry." She smiled then. "I won't accept it as my own; It's yours — but I'll wear it for you forever." 

Harry seemed delighted with that idea. She placed it back upon her wrist and continued to admire it. 

Ron seemed perplexed by the turn of events and tried to change the subject. 

"So, what d'you reckon to the new Defence teacher, eh, Harry?" said Ron. 

"Moody? Don't much care for his appearance but maybe that means he'll be good at Dark Arts," replied Harry. "I mean, if he's been that battered about then he must have had a lot of practice defending himself by now." 

Hermione frowned and looked up at the roman numerals of the clock on the wall. "That's odd," she muttered. 

"Yeah, like he's been in the wars," said Ron. "Should be interesting." 

Neville and Ginny's laughter floated along from further up the common room. The twins were arguing too. Hermione frowned at the distractions and struggled to remember what she had just been thinking about... Oh, that was so annoying! 

Ron explained. "Fred and George are exasperated because they're only a few months too young. They're thinking of using an ageing potion." 

"It won't work," said Hermione. "A special goblet is used to select entrants. It's called the Goblet of Fire. They'll get their fingers burnt." 

She giggled loudly then in astonishment at her innocent pun. Ron shushed her but Harry thought it was pleasing to hear her laughter. _She spends so much time on serious pursuits, she deserves to relax now and again._ "What did you say it was called?" 

"The Goblet of Fire."  


—oOo— 

  
  
  


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	2. The Twelfth Rune

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _So far... Sirius has owled Harry a tiny notebook and a wristwatch that belonged to Lily and James, both embellished with mysterious runes and which he then passed to Hermione to consider if there is any special significance to them. Together with Ron, the three friends have returned to Hogwarts for their fourth year. Now read on..._

* * *

  


  


| 

**Chapter 2**

**The Twelfth Rune**

  
  
  


The Wind-Up 

It was two days later, during break by the low back wall in the inner courtyard, that Hermione remembered what she had thought odd about the watch. Ginny was cautioning her that Ron had been sulky about it. 

"Ron? Why?" Hermione looked across the yard to where Harry, Ron, and the twins were chatting. She turned away and put her bag on the wall next to Ginny's pot beaker and began shuffling through parchments just inside at the top. 

"Oh you know, you three..." said Ginny. 

"What about us?" 

"Ron thinks he'll be left out of it when you and Harry... you know." 

Hermione gaze jerked up from her bag. "For heaven's sake, Ginny, the wristwatch was just a friendship gift. Not even a gift really; I'm holding it for him." 

"Yeah, right — but Ron noticed the winder-upper so naturally..." 

"The winder?" Hermione scrutinised the watch closely. "Oh, it's a heart — how sweet." 

"Like you hadn't noticed! Come on, who are you kidding!" 

Hermione cheeks coloured slightly and she began examining her finger nails. "Did, erm... did Ron tell... erm..." 

"Harry? Yes, I think he might have mentioned it — about ten times!" 

"And did Harry... did he sound like he...?" 

"Harry pretended he hadn't known until then." 

"Oh, yes, well... perhaps he feels uncomfortable about anyone mistaking his intentions — you know how immature boys can be." 

Ginny stood grinning at her, swinging her bag and scuffing a shoe back and forth to mimic Hermione's coyness. 

Hermione sighed. "Look, seriously, Harry and I, we really are just best friends and nothing more." 

"Best friends with a crush on each other," sniggered Ginny, taking a slurp of pumpkin juice from the goblet. 

"No, definitely not." Hermione shook her head. "He's like family. Look, didn't you say you got your dad a really nice charmed wallet for his birthday?" 

Ginny looked puzzled. "Yeah, but what's that got to do with it?" 

"So you care about your dad?" 

"Of course I do, he's my dad!" 

"You love him?" 

"Well... yes, of course." 

"But you're not _IN_ love with him? You don't fancy him at all?" 

"Yeuk! Of course not!" 

"Well then, yeuk with brass knobs on! I'm not, have never been, and never will be, romantically in love with Harry — and I'm sure he feels the same way about me." 

"But you fancy him?" 

"No, well, not exactly _fancy_ him. If I were looking — and I'm not — I'd be looking for someone more... I don't know, charming and amorous, I guess, more passionate and knowledgeable about life and things that I enjoy. Oh, he's considerate at times, and caring, but we don't feel anything more — nor do we want to; we're happy being good friends and that works fine as it is." 

Ginny ignored the tempting diversion. "But you fancy him?" 

"Not especially. Oh, Harry's reasonably good looking, I suppose. Listen, he's not just a stick of wood is he!" 

"Hope not." 

"For heaven's sake, Ginny, there are dozens of boys at school who are fanciable but I don't particularly—" 

"—want to snog them?" Ginny finished for her. 

"Right." 

"Yet you do, Harry." 

"No, Ginny. I don't. To be honest I..." 

"What?" Ginny's eyes widened. "Who, then?" 

"I fancy your brother a bit." 

"Ron?" Ginny blinked and backed off a step onto the toe of a first-year girl who ran off squealing across the courtyard. "Really? You fancy Ron?" 

Hermione nodded. She could see Ginny's mind working overtime. 

"So, if Harry and I went out together?" 

Hermione's eyes lit up. "Ginny, nothing would make me happier! I've told you before, I'll help you if I can." 

"Right then. I'll just go and ask him." 

The beaker was promptly drained of its pumpkin juice and Ginny wiped her mouth with the back of her hand then sauntered off in Harry's direction. Hermione wasn't fooled one bit. She knew Ginny would never ask him directly for a date. She'd question him about something to which he'd have to nod his head and say yes. Hermione wasn't even going to look at them... 

She frowned. Harry was nodding his head emphatically and Ginny was clapping her hands with delight. But the giveaway was Ron: he was also nodding and smiling. It was all a big wind-up, Hermione knew. Probably something about Quidditch. 

A wind-up. She looked again then at the winder on her watch. Break would soon be over. The big hand was almost on the topmost rune. That's when she remembered what was odd about the watch. But it would not be until the end of her Ancient Runes class in the afternoon that she would have the opportunity to find out more. 

  


A Rushed Revelation

"Professor Babbling, may I speak with you?" Hermione had to raise her voice above the scraping of chairs and the chatter of the other students who were noisily making their way out of the classroom. 

"Can't it wait until the next lesson, Miss Granger?" Babbling replied, picking up her bag. It was a large fabric holdall but the teacher was broad-shouldered and hefted it with ease. Hermione remembered Ron saying he wouldn't want to get in a fight with old Babbling — she'd knock the stuffing right out of him. 

"It's just one rune — well two, actually, no, three..." Hermione flustered slightly as she considered whether she ought to show Harry's private possessions to a teacher. 

"Two minutes then!" snapped the teacher, shaking her short dark hair irritably. She dropped the heavy bag back down on her desk with a thump. "I have other things to do, you know. You should have come to me earlier." 

"Sorry, Professor, it's just that..." She tore a blank sheet of paper from her notebook and scribbled on it. 

"This rune, I'm unsure how to translate it." 

Professor Babbling took the page and studied it before answering. "It has several related meanings depending on the context. It might signify 'to reveal' or 'uncover' or 'open'. In another sense it might indicate 'to make visible' or 'to show'." 

"Why would it be at midnight on a clock face?" 

"Nonsense. Why would it...?" She peered down again at the rune, opened her bag and began flipping through a reference book. "Well, it's a whimsy. You see they've slightly misshaped 'Reveal' so it is more similar to the triple-headed Runespoor with an upside-down nine-headed Hydra added at the bottom: three and nine. It's clever in a way because it also signifies a wandering star — you know, the planets." 

"So... three and nine are twelve? Twelve o'clock?" 

"Exactly. Someone's silly sense of humour. Now, if you don't mind..." 

"Oh, just one more thing, please, Professor," Hermione said earnestly. She wrote down some more runes. 

The classroom door was still ajar. Footsteps approached. 

"Bathsheda! You are aware that the staff meeting begins in less than five minutes!" came the voice of someone just outside the door. 

"Coming!" Babbling snapped her bag shut and turned back to Hermione. "I have to go..." 

"I think it's two words," said Hermione as she thrust it into the teacher's hand, "but probably a place name because it has no sensible meaning. I've tried transliterating as single characters but it makes no sense in English." 

Babbling sighed. "That's because it's a conversion from the Welsh. You see how these rune shapes differ? One translation would then be: _Cwpan Myrddin._ " 

Hermione looked at her teacher. "Which means?" 

"I really must go — right now!" Babbling frowned, then natural curiosity made her look down again at the paper. 

"You seem to like ambiguity, Miss Granger. _Cwpan_ might be 'cup' but..." She looked again at the original runes. "It could also mean 'portion' or 'providence' or 'lot' as in, 'his lot in life had not been a happy one.' So it could mean a burden or even a benedic..." She gasped, and her face paled slightly. 

"What is it, Miss Babbling?" 

"My Welsh is not good but I think _Myrddin_ is their word for Merlin. What you have written down might be something like _The Benediction of Merlin,_ better known as _Merlin's Blessing!_ Where did you see this?" 

"Oh, nowhere, special," said Hermione, snatching back the note. "Thank you for your time, Professor Babbling, I won't detain you any longer!" She dashed off before the professor could recover. 

  


Overcoming Restrictions

Hermione was late for her next class but Flitwick nodded her in with only a frown. He's a good sort, Hermione thought, so long as you don't go too far. Ron and Harry's faces signalled to her and she hurried over in her best submissive, apologetic posture while Flitwick waited with hands on hips; only a few sniggers broke the accusative silence. 

"So... perhaps we can continue..." he said. "Open Standard Four to Page Two-one-seven..." 

"Harry," whispered Hermione, talking across Ron to his far side. "I think I found something, but I need to borrow your cloak." 

"You will see that..." continued Flitwick, loudly. 

"My cloak? Why?" Harry whispered back. 

"Restricted Section. It's top secret!" said Hermione breathlessly. 

"Can't you get a note from your Runes teacher?" 

"I daren't ask her this week; she was a bit annoyed." 

"What's it for?" 

"Something called _Merlin's Blessing_." 

Ron snorted, then rubbed his nose as Flitwick looked his way. He cupped his hand over his lips and spoke out of the corner of his mouth. 

"That old cup story? Don't need no cloak. It's everywhere." 

"All these new charms will require delicacy and precision..." continued Flitwick. 

Hermione's excitement somewhat mollified, she hesitated. "Well, I never heard of it. I can't believe I wouldn't have come across a mention of it in all this time." 

"All the pure-blood families know about it because the Borgins have been asking about it for centuries; think it's theirs by right. It's just some old chalice he handed down and they have a distant connection with the family of Merlin." 

"Them and most of the magical world!" said Hermione. "Merlin's descendants are dispersed through most of the pure-blood families these days." 

"Exactly. If it exists at all then it could be anywhere." 

"Well, I believe Professor Babbling thinks it does. She reacted very oddly." 

This time, Ron suppressed his snort more carefully. "That old bat! Probably just wants to get bedded before it's too late." 

"Get what?" 

"Study the next four pages together but keep your voices down and then we'll discuss afterwards." said Flitwick. 

"What page was that, Harry? Where's it start?" said Ron. 

"Two-one-seven." 

"What do you mean, _bettered_? Why would she?" whispered Hermione with a puzzled frown. 

Ron stared sideways at Hermione. "You are joking, right?" 

Harry cut in, "He's being vulgar, Hermione. Don't listen to him." 

Hermione thought about that for a few seconds. "Oh, ' _bedded_.' " She blushed and buried her face in her copy of Standard Charms. "What page was it, again?" 

Harry sighed. "Two-one-seven." 

There were a few seconds of silence amongst the three while there was a growing tumult of low-level chatter all around them. 

"I think we can skip that first page because it only repeats what old Flitwick just said essentially, right?" said Harry. 

"Erm... right," said Hermione. "Ron, what can the cup do then?" 

"What, For Babbling?" he sniggered. There were just enough background murmurs to obscure his giggle with a cough. 

"Ron..." said Harry in a warning tone. 

"Sorry," choked Ron. "Erm... it basically is supposed to lead you to paradise but everyone knows it means you-know-what." 

"Ron...!" growled Harry. 

"Well, she asked! How else can I put it?" Ron yawned. Even a Charms lesson seemed suddenly more interesting than old common knowledge that everyone ought to have heard. 

"Oh, I don't know, how about it leads you to live happily ever after with your ideal partner?" 

"It's just a general blessing, I'm sure," said Hermione, recovering her composure. "I thought it might change your run of bad luck, Harry. Suppose You-know-who came back?" 

Harry stared at her across Ron's decreasing interest. 

"Well, you gave me the friendship wristwatch!" she said, hesitantly leaning forward past Ron to see Harry's reaction. "It's the least I can do for you in return." 

Ron sighed. "Are we studying these new charms or what? Only, Flitwick keeps eyeing me and I know I'm going to be first in line when he starts questions." 

"Sorry," said Hermione. "Erm... Summoning charm? I already know that one." 

"Oh well, perhaps you can enlighten us," said Ron. 

"Erm... hold on... before I forget..." She began scribbling down in her notebook. 

"Now what?" said Harry. 

"I'd still like to look it up in the Restricted Section," she said. 

"Hermione," said Ron. "There won't be anything about it in a school library, I shouldn't think. Anyway, there's been generations of Borgins turned over every henge in the country and not found the chalice." 

Harry half stood to lean across Ron to see what Hermione was writing but all he could see was, _open, 3 & 9, travelling, Merlin's Cup or Blessing. Might help Harry and G—?_ He couldn't quite see the last word. 

"Goblet?" he said aloud. "But I'm not—" 

"Hey!" she said, covering the note with her hand. 

"Sir, one of my pages is torn," said Seamus behind them. 

Flitwick groaned audibly. "First year, Standard Spell book, Mr Finnegan. _Reparo_ charm, remember it? And do it quietly please, some students here have reached their fourth year, believe it or not." 

"What's it mean, Hermione?" said Harry. 

"Nothing. It means nothing," she said, tucking her note inside Harry's dad's potions book and stuffing it huffily back in her bag. "Just some numbers — but if your father was making these notes then it's worth making a bit more effort isn't it?" 

"I was only asking what it meant." Harry glanced up but Flitwick was bent over some paperwork and not paying attention. "Right," he said, "we'll all go tonight." 

"We?" she said, faintly. 

"I'm not bloody going," said Ron. "Are you mental or what? There won't be anything, I told you. Can't think why you of all people would want Merlin's old tin cup." 

"No need for either of you to go," she said, flushing a little at Ron's slight. 

"But if it's to do with my dad, I want to go," said Harry. 

"No, I'll tell you later if I find anything," said Hermione, turning her face away. 

Ron, caught in the middle between the two of them, leaned back resignedly. 

Harry stared at the back of Hermione's bushy head. He didn't think he'd ever understand girls but after three years he reckoned he had began to get some sense of Hermione's feelings at last: she was embarrassed. It could only be about... boys! 

"Oh, right... yeah, you're right... Okay, I'll lend you my cloak when we get back upstairs." 

Astonished by Harry's sudden u-turn, Hermione recalled what Ron had said about Professor Babbling. _Oh, God! He thinks I'm after the Cup to get myself... a boyfriend!_

"Ron's probably right," she said hurriedly without looking round. "Anyway, I'm not really that bothered..." 

"I am still here you know," muttered Ron. 

Harry continued to stare at the back of her head thinking what to say for the best. "Uuh, right... how about you tell me exactly what you're after and I'll go on my own?" 

"NO!" 

Ron flinched as Hermione's loud whisper blast straight into his ear. 

"Keep the noise down during your discussions, please!" said Flitwick loudly without looking up. 

"No?" whispered Harry, more confused than ever. 

"Er... It's really not that important, Harry, thanks." 

"Here's an idea. We both go and I keep sentry at the door while you search for whatever you want?" 

Ron's eyes, which had been flicking back and forth like a tennis spectator trapped in the net, now rolled up to the heavens, and he sighed. 

There was a long pause while Hermione remained completely motionless, deciding... 

"Okay then," she said, sounding falsely nonchalant, "if you're really that eager to find out about your dad. I'm not that fussed myself. So... meet me in the common room at say, seven?" 

Harry smiled and let out a long silent breath of relief. _Girls!_ If they're such hard work, he thought to himself, let's hope one day Hermione meets a boy who considers her mysterious ways appealing. 

  


Restricted Access

Once she had freshened up after dinner and brushed her teeth she descended from the girls' bathroom back down to the common room but couldn't see Harry anywhere. 

Parvati was reading by the fire. She glanced up, closed and put down her book, then gestured towards the boys' stairs with a bored expression before going over to put another log on the fire. 

Hermione was halfway up to the boys' dorm to fetch Harry when she heard Ron's voice in a loud whisper: 

"But she's always been one of us!" 

"Yeah, but in case you hadn't noticed, you prat, she's also a young woman now," Harry's voice. Hermione froze on the steps. 

"So?" 

"So Hermione has... finer feelings than us. Look, all I'm saying is, less of the toilet humour when she's around, alright? Suppose it had been Ginny?" 

"Oh, yeah, right..." 

Hermione held her breath, mesmerised. Had Harry grown to be the protective brother-playmate she had always missed when younger? 

"Anyway, she's only researching this Merlin's Cup thingy for my sake and not what you think at all. Lord knows, I could use some good fortune!" 

"I know that. I was only fooling around. It's just that old Babbling must be about fifty so it struck me as funny!" 

Harry wasn't listening but talking over him, "Yes, it's to do with my dad. She's been slaving away trying to find out what she can. I couldn't manage without her. And now you made her feel uncomfortable." 

"Alright! Alright! Mouth shut, okay? You seem a bit over-protective these days — like an old mother hen! Hermione's tough! She can look after herself." 

"Yeah, you're right; she's one of the strongest people I know," said Harry. "Look... don't take this the wrong way but... we three get along great usually, right? I mean, you really like Hermione? And she likes you or she wouldn't hang out with us." 

"It's you she likes mostly." 

"You just don't get it, do you, Ron? She's sort of... really close, a bit like the family I never had, I guess. That's how I feel, anyway. But er... well... you two... you and her... I mean if you were just a bit more considerate of her feelings then you two.... Look, all I want is for her to be happy, so if she likes you especially then don't... don't hurt her Ron. Don't sort of spoil it for her. Uuh.... Oh, you know what I mean." 

There was silence. Hermione quietly backed down the stairs and bumped into Ginny behind her. She whirled around, covering up her cheeks with her hands. 

"What's up?" Ginny said brightly. "Why are you blushing?" 

"Er... just worried they might be changing," said Hermione, hastily. 

Ginny grinned and sprinted up as fast as she could. "Hey, Harry! Hermione's waiting for you downstairs!" 

Hermione flew across to an armchair near the fire and threw herself into it. She grabbed a book off a table and was reading it by the time Harry came running down only a few seconds later. 

"Sorry, I was held up. ... Ready?" He patted the side of his bag to indicate he had his invisibility cloak ready at the top. 

"Mmm...? Oh, yes, I'd almost forgotten." She got up as if reluctant to break away, slowly put her book away with a matter-of-fact nod of appreciation, took her time smoothing down her robes, then they headed for the library. 

"Didn't know you could read Hindi script," he said, sounding really impressed. 

The Immortal Reader statue alcove in the gloomy library corridor was where they slipped the cloak over themselves. The manoeuvre was clumsy and inelegant. They had used the cloak with Ron last year, but now it seemed difficult to fit even the two of them under. 

"Sorry, it's my middle," said Harry, patting his stomach as they jostled together for the best position, "too much of Mrs Weasley's puddings during the summer, I guess. And my arm's in the way." 

"Well why are you digging up with your elbow?" chastised Hermione. "It obviously won't fit between us. Why don't you put your arm round my waist like you usually do?" 

Harry hesitated. "Will... will that be alright, then?" 

"What's wrong with you? We've always done it like that!" 

"Oh, yeah, I forgot." 

Hermione rolled her eyes. But it did feel different she had to concede, as they waited there for someone to visit the library. She decided it was this brotherly thing that made him nervous and overly-considerate so she silently forgave him his awkwardness. Perhaps he did not want her to misunderstand his intentions! Hermione almost laughed at the idea. Yet, come to think, she told herself, she ought not to give _him_ the wrong idea either. She turned her face away to look back along the passageway. 

When Katie and Leanne came along, she and Harry followed them invisibly through the opened doorway into the library then moved carefully to the back of the room, keeping clear of anyone in the aisles. Being currently unoccupied, the Restricted Section was lit only by such gloom as was cast from the main chamber. They stepped carefully over the rope that separated the reserved books from the rest of the library — then she realised there was a flaw in their plan. 

"How are you supposed to stand guard here if I go ahead with the invisibility cloak?" hissed Hermione. "You might be seen." 

They were forced to stumble on together. Harry clenched his left hand away from her so his fingers didn't spread out too far forward. One advantage of his growing taller, he noticed thankfully, was that Hermione's head with its thick, bushy hair that used to itch right in his eyes, now fitted comfortably across his shoulder — though it was a strain trying to avoid pillowing his cheek down onto it. There was one line from an old poetry book he still remembered about a princess riding a flying swan through the night: _Didst slumber on mist midst..._ but Hermione's hair was more like a bramble thicket from what he remembered when it was stuck in his face last year. He kept his head up. 

"What was that, Harry?" 

"Erm... Myths... uuh... _Myths and Legends_ , uuh... Ron said to try that section for Merlin's Wotsit." 

"Thought he said there wouldn't be anything." 

"Knowing Ron, that probably means there will be," said Harry. 

He felt the side of her tummy tremble with silent laughter and he strained to re-clench his fingers a little further away from her. He was distinctly uncomfortable, almost like that time Mrs Figg, smelling of cats, had hugged him once and he didn't know where to put his hands. This was worse. This was Hermione. It didn't seem right and proper somehow. It could be a bit awkward having a friend who's a girl at times, he thought. He couldn't move his hand higher and he couldn't move it lower. Why do girls have so few places to hang on to? Shoulder! Yes, that's safe. He'd try to remember next time. 

They found precious little information but Hermione discovered enough to determine that there was more to Merlin's Blessing than just a physical cup. 

"It sounds like the best fate possible," she whispered, as, with only a tiny glimmer of wandlight, they browsed the tome they had wedged between one hand each and a shelf. "I suppose it means it cannot produce miracles but guides you to the most that is achievable in the circumstances of your life." 

"Makes the best of a bad shoulder sort of thing?" 

"A what?" 

"Erm...situation." 

"You mean make the best of a bad situation? "Er... yes, you could put it that way. No, more like, changes things for the best that is... optimises — oh, I'm not sure." 

A sigh escaped her lips. "I suppose it's not going to make You-know-who instantly disappear forever, but at least it might give the best possible help to achieve that aim — if we had the Blessing of course." 

Hermione slid that last and most useful book onto a reading stand while their eyes scanned the nearby shelves for other promising titles, inching and swaying along together until they reached the end where they lapsed again into deep shadow as he extinguished his wand and checked the cloak was still secure around them. They paused to consider whether they had overlooked any other likely sections that might help them. _Good Luck Charms, History, Rare and Unusual Spells..._ Harry racked his brains but the only types of magic that came to his thought were the ones they had already searched. His mind began to wander... 

One minute extended to two with only the hushed tones of students in the main library to soften the silence. The cloak felt a bit tighter to Harry. Hermione shifted her weight and considered how life had changed. It was comfortable having an undemanding friend to lean on, she thought, having envied for so long Ginny's reliance on Bill's sensible support. Dad was great — he really tried — but he was distanced by more than a generation and didn't understand her as much as Harry did. If only they'd have been twinned as kids, she mused, how different her childhood might have— 

"Remind me why we're doing this Hermione?" 

"Mmm?" 

Harry was about to shake his head in disbelief but there wasn't room without rubbing his jaw and neck across her hair. He had noticed her behaving oddly now and again during the last few weeks and this was one of those times. Her breathing was slow and restful, as if she were so deeply relaxed she had forgotten why they were there. 

"Hermione?" 

"Mmm...?" she murmured again. "It's Dad..." — she straightened up against him suddenly as if awakening from a daydream —"I mean, _your_ dad — if he was investigating this Merlin's spell thing then..." 

"...he never found it," he finished for her. 

"Yes, but that's not what I meant," she said, turning her head suddenly. Her voice was muffled against the side of his throat. She looked up and her minty breath flowed over his cheek as she spoke. "It suggests he had information about it. Perhaps was even close to knowing where it might be — it means he believed in it! What do you think, Harry? Do _you_ believe in it?" 

"No idea, but I agree it's worth spending a bit of time to see what my dad was up to. I wonder why he—?" 

"But wouldn't it be wonderful if it were!" cut in Hermione. "You've been plagued by the worst kinds of unhappy events all your life. I'd like to think that won't last; that it could be reversed for you and good things pave your way instead." 

Surprised, he tried to make out her face but could only sense the palest of ovoids and the flash of her over-large teeth smiling up at him. He sighed. "Hermione, Isn't it about time you started thinking about yourself?" 

He felt her amusement convulse bodily against him as she squeezed his waist more tightly for a moment. "I've got _you_ to look out for me, haven't I?" she said. He noticed _her_ fingers weren't clenched away. 

A wall-torch flickered into life. 

"Someone's coming!" murmured Harry. "Circle round the other side and we'd better get out." 

"Harry!" she whispered as they slipped past in the next aisle of shelving. "It looks like Professor Babbling! And I think we didn't put that last book back in place!" 

"Too late to worry about that now." 

Reluctantly, they made their way out yet they did not feel empty-handed. He felt stronger knowing she was right. Ron was his best mate but Hermione was the truest of friends and he would never stop looking out for her. For her part, she felt more secure, and more certain than ever that whatever his fate, she would always try to be the best sister for him that she could be — maybe even mother him a little when he needed reassuring. It was good to be this close to someone. 

  


Togetherness

To Hermione's surprised delight, it was noticeable that Harry distanced himself slightly from Ron and herself over the next few weeks. She had felt a growing attraction to the Weasley manner after observing the maturity of Bill and Charlie during the summer and visualising their youngest brother growing up to be like them, but somehow, Harry had always been sort of... in the way without meaning to. Now he detached himself occasionally to pursue a borrowed quill or visit the reading room. She might see him then from the window, wandering by the lake despite the increasingly cold weather, or perhaps learn that he had spent overlong tending his Firebolt in the broom shed when he knew school Quidditch was cancelled this year. It was good of him to think of her and Ron. 

Knowing Ron's lack of interest in the Blessing, she never mentioned Harry's inherited wristwatch and book nor Merlin's Cup during her conversations with the young Weasley. She felt that finally, she and Ron were becoming closer and no way was she going to spoil that growing intimacy. It was exciting to have him show an interest in her that was more than mere friendship, even if he was rather vague about it. 

Not that she had overlooked what she felt was her sense of duty to Harry's welfare. The school library, both restricted and unrestricted, she had forsaken, at least in respect to the Blessing legend, yet still she spent time pondering over the two Runic items: browsing the book or staring at the watch dial as if it might reveal some great secret. Had Lily gazed upon it with a similar intensity in some other place and time? Or had she known? Hermione's eyes swivelled again to the topmost rune on the watch face — the twelve — as a startling idea came to her. Had this same thought popped into Lily's mind too? She could hardly wait to find out, but it had to be at the right... time! 

  


The Witching Hour

Her bedside candle flickered its yellow light upon the watch face as she eyed it closely and waited for midnight. Perhaps the top rune would reveal something at twelve o'clock as both hands crossed the wandering star. Why had she not thought of this before? 

But only disappointment imparted itself at the witching hour. No mystery was solved, no deep truth unfolded to her expectant gaze, no exquisite flower bud opened out to show the way. 

She frowned. Had she so totally misunderstood? The little book with her scribbled note was still in her bag. What else had Babbling said the rune might mean? _Reveal or uncover or.... OPEN!_

Hermione almost dropped the watch down her pyjama top with excitement. She removed the strap, thrust it into a pocket then rolled over onto her stomach to examine the silver back of the watch directly within the pool of candlelight. She wasted no time struggling to open the backplate. "Aperio," she whispered, clutching her wand tightly and tapping it upon the silver surface. 

The metal cover swung open on a little hinge. The mechanism inside seemed delicate and complex to her eyes. Finely-shaped cogs were rotating at varied tempos while a delicate hairspring rapidly coiled and uncoiled like the silent heartbeat of a butterfly — but there was nothing ill-matched to the purpose of the timepiece. She released the tension of a long, resigned breath of air and, as the candle guttered in her sigh, an image shimmered blue inside the open cover plate. She peered closely. It was the same oddly-shaped rune, the wavy arms signifying a wandering star as well as three and nine. The emblem was tiny — smaller than the tip of her thumb — very faintly embossed and hard to see, overlookable unless you felt its impression in the metal. She focused her eyes on the candle flame as she ran her fingers blindly over the indentation to enjoy the sensation — then an awful, incomprehensible sensation entered inside her and Hermione left her scream behind as she fell into a rush of darkness... 

  


The Not-enough Room

For one moment, the only vision was the candle flame imprinted onto her retinas in deep glowing red, shattered and shimmering, and yet now, she imagined, taking the shape of a small, distorted, vaguely-human figure — then it was gradually being swallowed by the blackness which enfolded her. The only vivid sense remaining was a musty smell she knew so well — _old books!_

Her wand was still gripped firmly in her right hand. Hermione cast a light. _A wall of bookshelves!_ Immediately she saw them, she recalled their mention in Sirius's message on the train journey at the end of the previous term — but what else had he said? 

The dark oak-panelled chamber she found herself in was disappointingly small; a table and chair were the only other items of furniture jammed at one end and there was barely space to stand before the shelves. But to Hermione, a trove of books was a real treasure! 

"What secrets do you hold?" she whispered aloud to the silent volumes. 

So engrossed was she by her discovery that she forgot herself. Only after browsing a few pages briefly, the growing realisation that the books all seemed very ordinary and uninteresting awoke her to her plight. She was a prisoner here. No door, no window gave any relief to the wooden panels — and they seemed firm and unresisting both to the pressure of her hands and to every opening spell she could recall. How was she to escape? If she had been more calm then she might have considered that the very banality of the reading material was itself curious and worth exploring — but her emotions were not at all in repose. Not that she was panicking, but she was close to it. 

If this cell was within or below the dungeons of Hogwarts then perhaps if she shouted she might be saved. 

" _Hello?_ " She listened carefully for any response. "Hello? ... HELLO? ... _HELLO!_ " 

Hermione listened to the silence for a while. She could just as easily be up in the rafters of any of the tall towers. Was this some Slytherin's idea of a joke? A cell created just for Hermione Granger and supplied with books intended to bore her to death as a slow torment? She did not consider the idea seriously, but she did ponder again if the reading material had some meaning other than that they were the collection of a person of poor literary appreciation that not even... _not even a child could enjoy!_

Her thoughts tapered off and a chill went up her spine. She hugged her pyjamas closer about herself feeling suddenly vulnerable. What had she seen in that first moment of her arrival? Sirius had mentioned a terrible spectre that had unnerved even Lily and James Potter! She shuddered and closed her eyes. The red image was still faintly there on her eyelids. It was not tall. Could it have been a child, a Hogwarts student buried alive here centuries before? Yet it had definitely not been a mere ghost. She fretted, wishing she had paid more attention to different apparition types and similar supernatural phenomena in her studies. Was she in danger? 

The strapless watch body, Hermione retrieved from where it had fallen upon the floor and she examined inside the back cover more carefully. How could she have been so foolish as to touch what was evidently a very special Portkey of unknown destination and danger! The faint blue tinges of light should have alerted her. Even the symbol of the star — a wandering, travelling celestial body — ought to have led her to the deduction. Instead, she had blundered recklessly ahead like... yes, just like Harry would have done! 

_And what would he do, now?_ she wondered. _Probably repeat the same folly!_ And yet, for a few moments, she wished he was there with her... Well, she would not be so foolish! She was NOT Harry Potter! 

She stared at the rune in the watch. It still shimmered blue. But where would it now lead? Was it a returning Portkey? She had heard of those — one destination but returning to wherever the traveller set out from! She closed the watch then slipped it into the top pocket of her pyjamas to keep with its strap then looked again at the books. Had anyone ever bothered to read them? _An Herbologist's Guide To Careful Grass Watching ... Bosk's Third Explanation of Goblin Reticence... Obsolete Charms and Other Failures of the 14th Century_ — not one volume scarcely worth opening except to verify their mundanity. 

_Come on, Hermione! I can work this out!_

Someone must have carefully chosen these tomes; those on the lower right shelf in particular looked especially worn and well-thumbed, one still carelessly sticking out proud of the others. She reached down and withdrew them one at a time, flipped through several pages of each, then returned them to their shelf. If anything, they were even more characterless than those on the higher shelves! 

_That means something._

Hermione had relaxed slightly and was thinking more clearly. She went through that shelf again — twice — but nothing emerged to explain the situation in which she had placed herself. Perhaps she should give special attention to the books immediately to each side of the annoying one someone had left jutting out? 

A frown clouded her face. She had been forgetting something — magic! Out came her wand. "Specialis Revelio!" 

The signs around the obtruding book were clear. It was protected by a Notice-me-not charm! In all this time its magic had dissuaded her from reading the one book that mattered! 

It was too late in the night, and she too tired, to groan. Hermione took out the volume and examined it. It was completely blank — not a log or accountancy book, nor any kind of writing book — it was clearly in the form of a story or text book, yet without print. 

Now she did begin to grumble — loudly — especially when she returned the book to its place but found it too deep to be pushed back fully. She hated that. 

Finally, it dawned upon her. Whoever had created this chamber did not wish unwelcome visitors to proceed too easily. And yet, they themselves would not want a complex and lengthy method to progress themselves. There had to be a really quick and easy way. She nodded to herself then forced the book further in — hard! 

Without any warning the shelves were no more. The table and chair remained with herself within a long shallow alcove of a vast entrance hall. Indeed, the recess had the feel of being a grand front doorway — yet without the door. On her right was a wide cloak stand and beyond that a friendly grandfather clock was ticking softly. On her left was leather seating where visitors might wait. Before her, a dark blue carpet, splendidly embellished with silver decoration stretched away towards... 

"At last! I thought you would never get here!" 

Far up the steps of a grand staircase, she discerned the distant outline of someone whose face, voice, glasses, and dark unruly hair she knew so well. Hermione swayed. There was no doubt that the figure was a ghost — which meant that Harry was... 

The world swung from side to side. Hermione, giddy, had to let go of it. The floor came up and hit her. She had fainted — almost. 

  


Advance to The Retreat

"There you are!" 

Icy water seemed to be pouring all over her, in her eyes, in her hair, even inside her nightclothes. She came fully back to herself with a shudder, annoyed about something. If Peeves had got into the girls' dorm there'd be hell to pay! She shivered and opened her eyes as she sat up. It was not Peeves nor was she in her dormitory. She was on the floor of one of the large halls and one of Hogwarts' ghosts was walking back and forth right through her! 

"Excuse me...?" 

"Oh, you're awake! Thank Merlin!" said the ghost, stooping to examine her carefully. "No harm done?" 

Hermione shook her head — her head ached a little — clambered to her feet, and looked around, recalling what had happened earlier. She still felt groggy and struggled to put together any sensible questions. "Is this... h-hall connected any other way? I don't ... th-think I've seen it here before. Where does that st-steps... that stairway lead? The Great Hall?" 

"Connected? Are you sure you're alright?" 

She studied the ghost more carefully. Now her jumbled thoughts were beginning to clear she could see that close up he did not look as much like Harry as she had at first thought. This poor imitation was approaching old age — approaching but never reaching, Hermione reminded herself — and his clothing and silver-framed half-spectacles she estimated to be eighteenth century. Yes, in outline, there were vague similarities judged from a distance but she felt foolish for swooning. That is what had really annoyed her: she had never fainted before in her life and now, just because this ghost looked slightly like Harry she had embarrassed herself! Ridiculous! 

She steadied herself. There was no use being angry at him; it wasn't his fault. "I'm sorry, but who are you, exactly?" she said. 

The ghostly eyes blinked a few times in surprise then the apparition said, "Lord Cautius Peverell at your service, my Lady." 

Hermione wondered whether she ought to curtsy in her pyjamas or if you only did that in a skirt. _What must she look like!_

"I don't recall seeing you in the castle before... my Lord." 

"But..." The ghost looked thoughtful for a few moments and then nodded to himself. "I do beg your pardon but... your family name... 'tis Granger, is it not?" 

"How do you know of me?" 

"The Mistress of the House of Peverell wishes to make available to you her private study and library but nowhere else must you go. She was most emphatic." 

"The...? Where am I, then?" 

"Why, _Cúlú Peverell, Am Monadh Liath._ " 

Hermione muttered under her breath, "Guess I'm not in Hogwarts anymore..." 

"Perhaps Mistress Candria will clarify for you..." 

Lord Peverell gestured to a beautifully-arched double doorway at the far left of the hall and Hermione walked towards it without reluctance. Silence greeted her within. It was a modest study — modest in size but like the entrance hall, it was resplendent with oak panelling and dark marble pillars. Detailed carvings and mouldings trimmed and decorated many surfaces while others were more discrete and reserved. A granite fireplace hosted a bright fire and, as well as its golden glow, the chamber was also illuminated by many glittering candles around the walls and hanging from the ceiling. The top of a fine old desk matched the green leather seating that furnished the room. 

In the furthest corner a second doorway was open, and Hermione could see the edge of a bookcase. This library was as opulent and extensive as the Portkey entrance bookshelves had been meagre and dull. It was perhaps twenty or thirty paces in length and the high walls were all lined floor to ceiling with books. Indeed, the chamber smelt of them: old leather and parchment and thrilling promise. A few chest-high bookshelves were set more casually in the centre of the room where there were reading tables and seating. Among these was another ghostly figure, a young woman in fifteenth century attire. She looked with curiosity upon Hermione and said: 

"Greetings, my Lady. How mayest I tend thee service?" 

Hermione made an instinctive vague movement that was somewhat reminiscent of a curtsy she had seen in a movie. She still felt utterly foolish whenever reminded she wore only her nightwear; as well as being embarrassing it gave the whole experience a surreal, dreamlike quality. "Thank you for allowing me into your private rooms, Lady Peverell." 

The ghost's lips parted and stayed that way for a while; her manner and frown was one of puzzlement. "But, my Lady... thou—" 

Hermione became aware that Lord Cautius had entered behind her and was making frantic, negative signals to the woman whose expression, Hermione now noted, suddenly cleared. 

"Forgive my manners, I am Lady Candria Peverell but I was never mistress of Peverell Retreat. I serve now where I may, as librarian, historian, tutor to many long gone." 

"Lady Candria is my great-several-times-great-grandmother," added Lord Cautius. "Most of the Peverell estate has long since been broken up and passed on to descendants in the female line married under new names. This secret retreat is the last to still bear the family name by the wishes of the present owner." 

Hermione looked from old to young and back again. "And... so where is the Mistress of the house?" 

"She... is not yet... available...?" said Lady Candria, looking inquiringly at her many-greats-grandson, Cautius. 

Hermione frowned. She had the distinct impression that Candria was looking to the other ghost for a cue. 

"What is going on, here? Why are—" 

Lord Cautius interrupted her. "The information you seek is present, my Lady, awaiting your discovery. You are free to come and go to these two rooms and the potions chamber only." 

"Potions?" 

The ghost pointed back into the study and Hermione could see a black, metal door within a shadowy alcove that she had not noticed earlier. 

At that moment, a faint bell tinkled from afar, echoing down through the chambers of the great mansion. Lord Cautius floated rapidly away in its direction while Candria remained, watching Hermione closely. 

The bell had triggered an anxiety within Hermione; her hand dived into her pyjama pocket and pulled out the watch. 

"I must fly!" She looked wildly around. Her eyes came to rest inquisitively upon the ghost. 

"Thou mayest e'er return whence thou came," Lady Candria assured her. 

"The Portkey takes me back from wherever I left, is that it?" 

Candria bowed her head in both affirmation and farewell as she said wistfully, "I pray thee, visit again soon, my Lady." 

Hermione again found herself instinctively twitching in an undignified half-curtsy, then hurried out to the entrance hall. As she did so it struck her she had not needed to; the Portkey should work from anywhere. She groped for the watch inside the breast pocket of her pyjama top — then froze in horror. 

Ahead of her, standing grotesquely before and barring the way to the alcove by which she had entered, was what could only be the hideous dwarf spectre. The creature was as red as an overcooked turkey, female, broad and squat with a thick tangle of monstrous hair sprouting from its head and face, and though its deformities shimmered, there was no doubt as to its solidity. Lowering one scabby arm it pinched between its claws a silvery tuft from the pile of the carpet. Long yellow teeth leered at Hermione meaningfully, then the spectre replaced the fragment and, fading, transforming, she scurried off towards a stout wooden door on the opposite side of the staircase. 

"My Lady! ... Mistress Potter!" 

Only then did Hermione become aware that Lord Peverell was descending the stairs and hurrying forward to the creature in alarm. But the spectre was gone and Hermione, still trapped in astonishment with her hand upon the wristwatch in her pocket, blinked repeatedly and managed, at last, to speak. "Th-that was the... m-mistress of the house? That creature!" 

The ghost wheeled around and stared at Hermione, giving the distinct impression she had not been meant to see and hear what she had. The ghost shook his head so vigorously in denial and he appeared so mortified, that Hermione knew her assumption had been correct — the beast was the Mistress of Peverell Retreat. 

"But, you said... _Potter_ not _Peverell?_ " Hermione gaped at the ghost as the significance of the spoken name finally sank in. _Could that creature have been Lily? Harry's mother? But Sirius had said the Potters were afraid of the spectre._ "From how long ago? What year is that... apparition from? What connection do the Potters have with—?" 

"I am sorry... Miss Granger... I cannot say more, except..." — the ghost hesitated — "except to confirm that, the Potters are indeed, descendants of the Peverell line." He glided rapidly back up the stairway leaving Hermione alone with her worries and confusion. 

Only then did she retrieve the wristwatch from her pocket and strode forward, preparing to leave — enough was enough for one night! Hermione looked about her one last time, and a frown shadowed her face. A faint shaft of daylight was illuminating the far wall beyond the grand staircase. Since arriving here she had sensed something was missing and now she realised what it was — there were no windows. Yet, far above, a grey morning sky was visible through an array of skylights. 

Hermione yielded to panic. How had the entire night passed so rapidly! She would be missed at Hogwarts for certain. Strangely, the watch, still in her hand, appeared to have stopped at not quite one o'clock in the night — less than hour since she had arrived. Her eyes flicked towards the alcove which had once been the tiny room of her entrance. Perhaps twenty or thirty minutes had she wasted there finding the way in — no more — and she had collapsed in a half-faint for mere seconds on the floor! Hermione looked down. A tiny glitter caught her eye; she had almost forgotten the carpet strand to which the spectral mistress of the house had drawn her attention. Why had she done so? 

On close inspection of the area, she discovered not a loose silver carpet tuft but a tiny pin with a delicate screw thread that was at once familiar. Where had she seen it before? Her hand went to her throat; it was the protective governor from the Time-turner! Her eyes swept from side to side — this was close to the spot where she had fallen what seemed only minutes ago. Lily's watch now showed exactly one o'clock. Hermione put it back into her top pocket and went to the grandfather clock across the hall. Almost ten-thirty in the morning — and she not at her lessons! 

Dismay seized her as the truth flooded her mind, and she pulled out the duplicated Time-turner. The inferior copy must have broken when she fell and the impact had also spun the wheel forward — impossible if the magical governor had been in place, but without it... 

This was dreadful! Hermione tried to recall McGonagall's cautions and all that she had read about travelling through time. 

_I mark the hours, every one, Nor have I yet outrun the Sun,_ accused the words engraved on the device. 

_Nor have I yet outrun the Sun!_ The words shouted aloud in her mind. The ministry had placed the charmed governor screw to prevent travel into the future and limit time spent in the past to a few hours. And what else could she recall? _Oh, Hermione, think! think!_ She forced herself to become calm and recall McGonagall's cautions: _According to the Ministry's latest research, the longest journey into the past without the possibility of serious harm is around five hours._ What else? _Catastrophic ruination has befallen those who have ventured further!_

Hermione went over to one of the leather chairs and sank down into it, feeling sick to the stomach. _Catastrophic ruination! What have I done! I must have moved at least nine hours, and what is worse — into the forbidden future!_ It was astonishing that the copy worked at all, she fretted, but who knows what other effects or damage to her or to others might have taken place? 

What was she to do? What would Harry do? Her thinking halted for a moment. She knew exactly what he would do: he would rush foolhardily to spin the Time-turner back again! But that would be _so_ irresponsible! An intense longing filled her heart. If only he were here to persuade her! To take away the... responsibility! 

"Ridiculous!" She had spoken aloud to the empty hall. _I will make my own sensible judgement._

A minute ticked by. It was mid-morning. How was she to explain her absence to her teachers — to Flitwick and McGonagall? Were the staff even now searching the grounds for her? She gazed at the Time-turner. It would be so, so... simple. Ten turns would put her back to a half-hour after midnight; she would never be missed and no damage done! What about here in the... future — _her_ future? Two ghosts in isolation and a spectre — it seemed unlikely that the flow of time had been harmed. 

She came to a reluctant decision. With determined strides she went back to the study and crouched behind the desk, clutching at the chair to steady her resolve. Hermione opened the wristwatch in preparation, then rotated the Time-turner back ten times. Fuzzy forms and colours streaked by. For a few moments she seemed weightless. Then the study came back into focus and her feet pressed against solid ground once more. Hermione hurriedly touched the Portkey in the back of Lily's watch and blackness again rushed her away. 

An unpleasant impression of flesh pressing upon her from all sides and inside was squeezing her out from the darkness. Like a baby born, she hit the ground to the sound of someone's scream. 

"Mmm... wha...? Wassup? Mmm...?" It was Parvati's drowsy voice. 

Lavender groaned sleepily and turned over. 

"Sorry. Bad dream. Fell out of bed," whispered Hermione, looking wildly around to see who had cried out and disturbed their slumbers, but there was no movement except her own flickering bedside candle which dazzled her eyes. 

Taking up the candle and shielding the flame with her cupped hand, she tiptoed over to Fay's bed where she peered at the girl's little bedside clock until her eyes adjusted to the gloom. Still midnight! — the Time-turner's calibration was faulty and the Portkey had returned her to the same moment she had been leaving! Hermione whirled around to face her own bed. Her earlier self had lain there only moments ago. The Portkey had delivered her to that same physical space and its magic had ejected her from the impossible situation of being inside herself. The scream had been no one's but her own — the one left behind as she had first departed! 

She adjusted Lily's watch, clambered into bed, and snuffed out the candle. But it quite some time before her racing thoughts came to rest and sleep finally quieted her fears.  


—oOo— 

  
  
  


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	3. A Thankless Gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _So far... Harry's 4th year at Hogwarts. He has inherited a tiny notebook and a wristwatch from his parents. Late one night Hermione found within the watch a rune Portkey which took her to the Peverell Retreat where she met two ghosts, Lord Cautius and Lady Candria, as well as a strange dwarfish spectre, then she returned to the school to sleep. Now read on..._

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**Chapter 3**

**A Thankless Gift**

  
  
  


First Date 

Hermione, who had awoken unrefreshed after her late night, almost missed the start of breakfast the next morning. Ron was especially attentive which provided a nice cushion for her half-drowsy state, but Harry was preoccupied, watching Neville and Ginny — they were absorbed in each other three places along. Hermione had not had any chance to speak privately to Harry about all she had discovered. 

The truth was, she was not quite sure herself what had happened so the longer she waited for an opportunity, the more inclined she became to wait until she found out something substantial. The only tentative link she had to Merlin's Blessing after all, she conceded, was Professor Babbling's interpretation of a couple of runes in James's book. That same book also included potion experiments; his wife had a Portkey to Peverell Retreat, and the retreat had its own potions chamber. She should at least see what the connection was before troubling Harry — especially if he might possibly be beginning to notice Ginny. 

"So, what you reckon?" said Ron. 

"Mmm...? That's...?" said Hermione. 

"It's a bit further along in Hogsmeade." 

"Sorry?" 

Ron began to play with the spoon in the sugar bowl. "Us two. Do something a bit different." 

"Don't forget Harry's got Sirius's permission slip now." 

Harry shook his head, "Yes, but I'm not going with you two, am I?" 

"You're going to Hogsmeade, surely?" Hermione's eyebrows lifted in surprise. 

Ron stared at her. "No, he just means in the tea shop itself." 

"Madam Puddifoot's?" Hermione was startled enough to almost wake up fully. What had they been talking about? 

"Or," he added hastily, "there's that new branch of Swiggen-Browse with the book-swap-'n-read thing, if you'd rather try there. Last year Percy said you can sit and read like in a library and have a cup of tea and a bun at the same time." 

"You'd last ten minutes before you got bored," said Hermione, frowning at Neville whose head was leaning very close to Ginny's. 

There was a lull in the conversation and when Hermione looked back, Ron was evidently crestfallen, absent-mindedly sprinkling his cornflakes with too much sugar. She realised then what a concession he had offered as to where they spend their time in Hogsmeade; books were not his ideal pastime. He was being unusually considerate. 

"Oh, _Swiggens_ , yes, sorry, Ron, I haven't woken up properly yet. That'd be great." 

He brightened up then and forgot his cereals. "It's mainly a chat room, with newspapers and magazines and erm... books. But we don't have to just read, we can... talk, right?" There was a hopeful tone to his voice. 

Harry was frowning, Hermione noticed, and she followed his eyeline; Ginny was whispering in Neville's ear. Surely Harry must be feeling something? she thought to herself. _But will he act? Will he realise she's perfect for him?_

"So, yeah?" said Ron. 

It was at that moment that Hermione noticed one of the teachers staring her way. It was Professor Babbling, and Hermione was definitely the object of her attention. "Alright then," said Hermione, distractedly as she turned to look elsewhere. She was finding it difficult to look away from either Babbling, Neville, Ginny, or Harry's scrutiny of the couple. "When is it?" 

"Dunno. Probably later next month or November." 

"But that's ages!" Hermione finally gave Ron her full attention. "I thought you meant—" 

"Yeah, but best be prepared, right?" he said brightly then he mumbled something. 

"What was that, Ron?" 

"In case anyone else asks first." He flushed a little and busied himself shovelling cornflakes into his mouth but Hermione had seen his eyes flick towards Harry. 

Throughout the rest of the day's lessons Hermione occasionally found herself contemplating Ron's suggestion. It gradually dawned on her that she had been asked on her first date without even realising it. She knew she ought to be excited — Ron could be a lot of fun — but somehow, her mind kept getting drawn back to the little study she had visited during the dark hours, and that black metal door... 

  


An Encounter and a Warning

Hermione was too tired that evening but the next morning, as she left Harry and Ron to head to her Arithmancy class, she pondered on another visit to the Retreat that night. She had considered going immediately after lessons but knew she would almost certainly be missed. Her pace had slowed, then, having made a decision, she nodded to herself firmly and strode on down the corridor. There was nothing for it: retire to bed reasonably early, draw the curtains around her four-poster, and Portkey from there as before. Or maybe... 

"Miss Granger!" 

Hermione blinked and turned to look back down the passageway. "Oh, sorry, Professor McGonagall." 

"Arithmancy next, is it not?" The deputy headmistress seemed to have every student's schedule in her head. 

"Yes, Professor." 

"Then you've taken the wrong turning." 

Hermione looked about her in bewilderment. "Oh! Sorry, I don't know what I was thinking..." 

McGonagall continued on her way, shaking her head, while Hermione turned back to where the corridor was crossed by another — when she almost bumped into Professor Babbling who glared at her just as severely as McGonagall. 

"Ah, Miss Granger, I wanted a word..." said Babbling. 

Professor Babbling drew Hermione to the side of the corridor and far away from the corner. There was something sinister about the way the woman put her arm around Hermione's shoulder that made the young girl almost shudder. Hermione's instinct was to walk away but that was not an option. The fingers drummed softly upon her; she could feel them individually tapping. Was the teacher placing invisible controlling runes upon her robe, or was she simply worried? Hermione was not being gripped tightly yet in her imagination she felt held in place, pinned down. Professor Babbling was certainly capable of such advanced runic magic. Hermione let the teacher continue... 

"Have you met with any success in your researches?" 

Babbling was met with Hermione's blankest expression. The teacher frowned. "You were inquiring about Merlin's Cup the other day, remember?" 

"Mmm... was I? Oh, yes, not really research — just some curious symbols I saw in a book somewhere..." She found herself wishing that McGonagall would return. Harry was the one for risky, midnight escapades, not herself; how had she got into this predicament simply by reading a book and toying with an innocent watch? 

Babbling stared hard at Hermione. "Miss Granger, if you are pursuing more information then I must caution you not to. The Blessing is little-known ancient magic and could be extremely dark. I insist that you tell me of anything you uncover and do not proceed any further yourself without my consent." 

"But... I'm not..." 

Babbling smiled but to Hermione the teacher's manner seemed cold when she said very firmly, "Have we an understanding?" 

Hermione hesitated barely a moment. "Yes, Professor Babbling." 

"Very well then — off you go." 

Hermione did not need to look back. The professor's footsteps did not sound on the hard corridor floor. _She's standing there watching me! She knows!_

The moment she was around the bend and close to a wall torch, Hermione examined the shoulder of her school robe — but could see nothing; no runes, no marks of any kind. 

"Specialis Revelio," she whispered while holding the tip of her wand upon herself. Again, nothing was revealed. She glanced nervously back to the corner she had just navigated, then proceeded on her way. 

The interaction strengthened Hermione's resolve to go to the Peverell Retreat only when she would not be missed — during the night — otherwise, if word got back to Babbling, then she would have a hard time explaining herself. 

And what of Harry? Ought she have told him what she had found out so far? Was it not better to wait until she had something less confusing to tell him? Anyway, he had given her freedom to investigate; it wasn't as if she were withholding anything from him permanently... was it? 

  


The Ancient Charm

So it was, once in bed that evening, Hermione pulled around the hangings of her four-poster, used the Portkey again, and soon found herself accepting Lady Candria's invitation to take the ring of keys from the desk in the study. 

"The big iron key doth give access to the potions room," explained Candria. "The smaller brass keys serve to open chests and closets of scarce herbs, pernicious compounds, and suchlike." 

"Thank you," said Hermione. For a few moments she looked apprehensively at the ghost. "May I ask you something Lady Candria?" 

A flicker of resistance passed over Candria's face before she answered, "Thou mayest." 

"This house... where exactly is it and why is it so... I mean, it's not really well known, is it? I tried to find out about it in the library at Hogwarts." 

"The Peverells did build it into the grey mountains of Monadh Liath for protection during the dark wars at the close of the fourteenth century, since which it hast not been in use overmuch. Thus, whilst our known estates wert strewn as marriage dowries, this recluse was forgotten save by an inner circle of family members. The home was finally conjoined as dower to the family of Potter in 1840 when the last Peverell, Lady Althea, wast wed to Lord Eldridge. ' 'Tis concealed by rock and powerful magicks but the upper chambers doth provide several pretty views overlooking the glen. 

"So we're still in Scotland?" 

Lady Candria smiled. " 'Tis so, my Lady." 

"But James and Lily, why did they not remain here for protection?" 

"They didst visit ofttimes, but James knew naught of Peverell Retreat till his twentieth year by which time he, with his new family, hadst erewhile settled in the village of Godric's Hollow, and Mistress Lily wast not o'erfond of bleak grandeur." 

"But that night... why didn't she use the Portkey to escape the Dark Lord? You know of those horrible murders, don't you?" 

Lady Candria stared wide-eyed at Hermione. "Only the tip of a single finger canst e'er touch the Portkey Rune. Mistress Lily previously gave the watch to Sirius Black for safekeeping lest she panic." The sound — but not the breath — of a sigh came from Candria's lips. "She did greatly underestimate her own stoutness of heart." 

Now it was Hermione's turn to be astonished. "She would neither leave the baby nor send him here to die unattended! She might have saved herself but instead remained with her son to the end!" 

"Precisely so." 

"Thank you." 

Hermione watched thoughtfully as the ghost returned to the library, wondering if James and Lily had only ever come here separately or if they had found another way together. Finally, she unlocked the potions room and entered. 

The eager scholar gazed around with great interest. The chamber contrasted starkly with the rest of the grand house already seen. Shabby racks of materials and tools surrounded a work area dominated by a sturdy, cluttered bench, grey with age. This work surface was pitted and blackened where a small, battered cauldron had stood at one end and later moved onto a protective iron tray. 

The bare stone walls gave raw testimony to the age of the house, for their many hanging cupboards, sacks, shelves, and niches were worn and discoloured by centuries of heavy use. Most of these containers and pigeonholes contained ingredients grouped by type, and the air practically crackled with magic around them: preserving charms to prevent the deterioration of herbs and other normally short-lived concoctions, proximity-glow on deadly poisons, and improvised spells supporting damaged struts instead of them being efficiently repaired. These all gave an air of endeavour and preoccupation with the work in hand to the neglect of sensible organisation and good management. 

Scrawled across and about in olden scripts were reminders and cautions such as ' _be thou prudent — uninvigorated!'_ and ' _only 1 drop & render utmost care.'_. She discovered more informality: a warped ledge was crudely propped up by an immobilising hex, an empty, glass-doored cupboard the size of a small bathroom cabinet and precariously tilted sideways was marked (rather unnecessarily, Hermione thought,) ' _unsafe to use,'_ while below it was a bucket of empty vials protected only by a thin board. 

Hermione frowned at the careless disorder and lack of efficiency or even good taste. The only decorative feature she could see was an ancient wooden shield carved with what she considered might be the family coat of arms, and even that was but a circle within a triangle. She looked from left to right, wondering where to start. 

A large, leather-bound record book lay open upon the worktable and Hermione homed in on it, lifting aside its ornately-embroidered bookmark to read what lay beneath. The handwriting was recognisable as that of James — he had been here! Her eyes brightened with delight: although the notes were rough, the opened page was in English, not runic characters which would have slowed her down, but the latest entry was nothing to do with potions. 

"He was trying to protect Lily with a spell..." Hermione muttered aloud as she browsed quickly to get an overview. 

_Was this Merlin's Blessing?_ What, then, she wondered, had gone wrong? Had he not had time to cast the spell before that fateful Halloween night when they both died? She studied the notes more carefully. It seemed he had planned to give his wife a charmed object that bestowed upon him a magical guardianship of his wife, but how this worked precisely, she could not tell. Had he died trying to protect her? Of more significance to the present situation, could Hermione herself use it to shield Harry from the unpleasant Dursleys and even... _He-who-must-not-be-named?_

And there it was, right in front of her. The gold and silver threads of the bookmark glittered attractively around the elaborately-stitched words: 

  


_For Lily_

She ran her fingers over the soft, beautiful silk. It was not bound to the folio so would make an ideal gift that could be used in any book — but if this was to be the charmed object, why did it remain here? Had its bewitchment not been completed in time? Or, more unthinkably, had he not yet found a convenient opportunity to give it to her before their deaths? 

The answer lay in his jottings. They referred to a much older book, an ancient grimoire, which Hermione found to one side of the first. Its archaic English was obscure. Perhaps James had not quite succeeded in perfecting the spell? Hermione groaned. Much research was going to be needed over the coming week. She rolled up her sleeves... 

  


A Selfless Act

"Returneth thou so speedily?" smiled Lady Candria on Hermione's next visit. "Thou art a staunch labourer, my Lady. It canst be naught but joy for thine teachers to educate such a devoted student as thyself." 

There was a wistfulness to her expression, Hermione noticed. "You miss your children? — the generations you have taught, I mean?" 

Candria inclined her head in assent. "Mine attainments doth extend o'er several disciplines," — her voice fell to a self-conscious whisper that Hermione almost did not catch — "shouldst thou desire further instruction." 

"If only there were more hours in the day..." sighed Hermione. 

Within four nightly visits to the Peverell Retreat's potions room, and building on James's prior knowledge to set her on her way, she had mastered the spell. Both the wand movements and the incantation were intricate but the page in the old grimoire promised the enchanted object would burn ' _as moonlight doth'_ if successful, illuminating for a while the caster as ' _guardian 'gainst the peril.'_ The meaning of this was not clear. It suggested that it worked but once, for a single threat, which Hermione did not find encouraging, and the directions concluded with, ' _bestow thanklessly in clandestine chambers.'_

She decided its meaning was that the guardianship must be a selfless act, without even the reward of gratitude; the recipient must not express appreciation. This was a puzzle. Lily would have thanked James for the beautiful bookmark without a doubt. _But she would not thank him for the charm if she did not know!_ That was the clandestine part, Hermione felt sure: give something openly but make certain they don't know it is secretly enchanted. 

What then to give Harry without arousing suspicion? Christmas was well over two months away and his birthday not until the following summer. Perhaps she could give something unimportant. It need not even be an actual gift for the charm was the gift — passing the saltcellar during a meal or briefly borrowing Harry's quill then handing back an enchanted one might suffice. She needed to give it some thought. 

The bookmark would have made a wonderful offering, for it was Harry's by right — but how to explain the message _For Lily?_ It would mean that Hermione would have to tell Harry everything and he would certainly learn of the Blessing charm which would then nullify its effect. Hermione needed to delay him coming here for a little longer until she was sure the charm was working. He must not know or it will fail! 

  


Heartbreak

As occasionally happens, the solution was quite simple. 

"I've brought your dad's book back, Harry," Hermione said over-casually as she entered the boys' dorm. 

"Drop it in my travel trunk would you," said Harry waving distractedly towards the open chest in the shadow of his grand four-poster. He and Ron were sitting on Ron's bed with a chessboard between them. 

"Find anything, Hermione?" Harry added, after he had made his move. 

"Erm..." She had been about to put the book away but was now wondering if it mattered whether the charm had to be handed directly. "Well... it's very interesting..." She looked around stalling for time. Neville was searching through the pockets of the clothes hanging in his wardrobe. 

"What have you lost, Neville?" called Hermione, feigning interest. 

"My Remembrall, not seen it have you?" 

Ron called to one of his pieces. "Queen to B6!" 

"Are you sure about that, Ron?" said Hermione, leaning over and delaying the piece by jabbing it with the corner of Harry's little book. The queen glared at this intrusion and folded her arms in indignation. 

Ron sighed. "Yes, I am, and who's playing this game anyway?" He turned his attention back to the chess piece. "B6 I say! Go!" 

The black queen tapped her foot a few times but finally glided off. 

"So, Merlin's Blessing? Sorted it, have you?" said Ron. 

"Thought you weren't interested?" she replied. 

"That's dangerous, that is!" said Neville, coming over. "Merlin's Blessing? Gran says it's really a curse." 

Hermione frowned. "That's what Professor Babbling says too. She keeps giving me the evil eye." 

"Rook to..." began Harry, uncertainly. 

"Hold on, Harry," said Hermione, holding the little book in the way of the rook and pointing to his advanced knight. "Haven't you overlooked this position?" 

"Well, she should know if anyone does, shouldn't she?" said Neville, his Remembrall forgotten. 

"Hermione! What's got into you?" cried Harry. He grabbed the book from her hand and slung it into his travel chest. "ROOK TO R6!" 

Ron laughed. "You should have listened to her, Harry. Queen to K7. Check! Your king is toast in two moves." 

Hermione backed off and sat on Harry's bed with a confused expression across her face. Had Harry's brief grasp of the little book counted as being gifted the Blessing charm? 

"He broke her heart." 

"What? What did you say, Neville?" said Hermione. 

"Jaskew — he broke Bathsheda's heart." 

Harry and Ron looked up from the chess pieces which had begun to move to their start positions for a new game. The pieces too, stopped mid-trudge and peered with interest at Neville. 

"Bathsheda Babbling's an old maid," said Ron. 

"She was engaged to Jaskew Borgin but he was only after her knowledge of ancient runes to help him find the cup. It's priceless: the ultimate dark object. When she refused, he rejected her." 

"It's not a physical cup," said Hermione, then added hastily, "I m-mean, it might be the word 'cup' just symbolises one's lot in life — ' _my cup runneth over'_ , like in the psalm, that sort of thing." 

"He'd still be liable if they were engaged," said Ron. "Dad warned me all about magical vows." 

"They weren't marriage vows, they were betrothal vows," said Neville. 

"Doesn't matter. Both are magically binding if you're a witch or a wizard and know how. I think you don't even need a wand if you do it right and swear it on your magic." 

Hermione nodded her agreement. "Yes, that's what I read too. What you do is—" 

"What if you break the vow?" said Harry. "Do you sprout rotten turnips out your nose or something?" 

"Nothing. It's not like an unbreakable vow," she said. 

"So what's the point?" 

"The point is," said Hermione, rolling her eyes and adopting an isn't-it-obvious tone, "it's a magical fact and so binding in law. Magical people can make a magical agreement over anything — even, say, I don't know... promise to babysit your sick owl — and it can be proven in court; it leaves a magical effect on both parties, you see. It's as valid as any business agreement or wedding, so if they did a betrothal vow then they're still engaged in law." 

"Maybe they never made a vow," said Harry. "That Borgin looks a slippery character." 

"You've seen him?" asked Neville. 

"Second year." Harry grinned at the recollection. "First time I used a Floo — took a wrong turning into Knockturn Alley. He's shady-looking — definitely the sort who might take advantage of a timid young woman." 

Ron laughed. "Yeah, I remember that! Wish I'd—" 

Hermione blurted out, "No! She's strong! Professor Babbling can be quite domineering. I bet _she_ rejected _him!_ Don't you see? She wants it for herself — the Blessing." 

Harry looked at her strangely but Neville spoke first. "What makes you say that, Hermione?" 

"She wouldn't help him and she wouldn't help me once she suspected what interested me. She wants it, I know she does." Hermione looked deep in thought for a few moments then straightened up triumphantly, a wicked grin on her face. "But she'll never get it." 

Now Harry did speak. "You found out something, didn't you?" 

Hermione stood up and brushed down her skirt while she thought how to answer. She dare not reveal she had used the spell already or it would break the clandestine blessing on the book she had just given Harry. Hermione placed her hand over the wristwatch protectively and told herself, _She can never get it without the Portkey._

"Not much," she said aloud, "but I found out enough to realise that Merlin's Blessing is probably lost or unreachable forever or it would have been found already, wouldn't it?" She regretted the deceit immediately and didn't meet Harry's eye. 

"Yes, that's what I think too," said Neville. He went back to search his chest for the Remembrall. "Have I already looked in here, do you remember?" 

  


Very Trying

Having accomplished her task, Hermione mostly rested from fretting over the Blessing charm for a week or two. There was plenty of schoolwork to keep her busy and now she was enjoying a good night's sleep each day. But as timed passed, she again became concerned that Harry's behaviour did not yet indicate any definite interest in Ginny. _Was he perhaps being considerate of Neville?_ Hermione groused to herself. _How am I going to help Harry if he wishes to be so honourable!_

She paused in that line of thinking as another concern entered her head. _But if the Blessing's single function is to help Harry and Ginny come together, what of Voldemort? He's already tried to kill Harry three times — what if he tries again? What directs the spell as to how it helps anyone? Should I have done more?_ She rubbed her forehead in annoyance and caught Harry watching her curiously. 

"Witches' Bridges, shall we?" said Ron, spreading a pack of cards out onto the central common room table. 

"Don't we need four of us?" said Hermione, doubtfully. "I only read the first part but I'm sure that's what the games book says." 

"You can play it with three," said Ron. "You're in, aren't you, Harry?" 

Harry nodded, still keeping one thoughtful eye on Hermione. 

"We ought to try to do it correctly," said Hermione, hoping to divert his attention. She turned and called across the room, "Parvati? We're playing Bridges but we need four — you in?" 

Parvati's eyes lit up and she started scooping belongings into her bag. When she joined them she smirked, "Neville too busy, I see." 

Hermione glanced over to Neville and Ginny who had found a corner to themselves. 

"I'm surprised they're not snogging already," said Parvati. She took her seat and placed her wand on the table. 

Ron snorted and took out his own wand. "That'll be the day. Neville snogging? You're joking, Parv." 

He cast his Hover charm to lift a card sideways on the green baize cloth and hold it steady. Harry floated another card to prop up Ron's, and Ron cancelled his own spell. 

"Oh, I don't know," said Hermione, moving her card gently against Harry's. "Neville's quite nice but a bit slow so I think they're just friends. Ginny's pretty; someone else will probably make a move and talk to her, I'm sure." She resisted the urge to peep at Harry but her head jerked up when Parvati replied: 

"No, he's already asked her to Hogsmeade and she's thinking about it." Parvati took her turn. 

Hermione bit her lip anxiously and stared at the couple who were chatting away animatedly. 

"He's what?" said Ron. "Bit early for that isn't it?" 

"Well, _you_ asked _me_ a while ago," said Hermione. "Watch my card, Ron!" 

"Oh, sorry. Anyway, that's different. I mean, you and me... we're..." 

"We're what, Ron?" said Hermione, but her thoughts were still on Neville and Ginny. She waited for Harry to move, then hovered in a new card on top but it was too unstable and she had to maintain her charm on it. 

"Well, we're fourth years for a start. What d'you think, Harry? Nev and Gin?" 

"Nice," said Harry. "Nice together. He's a lucky guy. _PLATFORM!_ How many points is that?" 

"Four, I think — no five," said Hermione, distractedly. She blinked a few times, trying to concentrate. "But you've trapped me. What am I supposed to do next? I can't hover a new card while I'm still hovering my last, can I?" 

"That's the whole point of the game, Hermione," said Ron. "You miss your turn until you can." 

"Why'd you say he's lucky, Harry?" said Hermione. 

"Neville? Because he's seeing Ginny, of course." 

"Yes, but they're not committed," said Hermione. 

"They're not an item, she means," said Parvati. "Not till Snog Watch says so, anyway." 

Ron laughed. "Tell me you're joking." 

"No, everyone's in it — Lav, Rommy, Hannah, loads of us." 

"So, you're in it, yourself?" said Ron. 

"Of course. Got to keep track of who's free, haven't you?" 

Hermione didn't like the way Parvati was gazing at Harry when she said that. Did she think he was just anybody's simply because he'd never had a girlfriend yet? This was the moment when her thinking came back to the Blessing. It had not helped him noticeably at all. How was it supposed to work? The book had said something about protecting him using her as a guardian. She sniffed. Maybe that's it. The Blessing won't help him find real happiness with Ginny or anyone else; it'll just keep him alive. What he does with that life is up to him. _So why's it called a 'blessing?'_ Hermione tried to reason it out. The information in the Restricted Section of the library had indicated it would lead to the best fate possible. She sighed. Probably she was being over-impatient. Still... 

"Hermione?" said Harry. "I can't go myself now. It's your turn again." 

"Oh, right. But can _I_ go yet?" 

"Duh!" said Ron. "Are you with us tonight, Hermione? You seem a bit erm..." 

"Preoccupied," said Harry, again looking at her strangely. 

"Sorry, um... Oh, yes... right... there...." Her gaze flickered over the astonished faces. "That's a Witch's Bridge isn't it? Does that mean I've won?" 

  


Drifting

But as the end of October approached, she more and more questioned in her mind the conflict between the charm she had given Harry and what she had thought previously about its blessing. How could she be sure it was working at all if she wasn't certain of the effect? Still, the little book had blazed out with a brilliant white light when she cast the charm, and it had illuminated herself as guardian. She really needed to visit the Retreat again and consult James's notes and the old spell book. 

It was tiresome only travelling late at night when she should be sleeping but to disappear during the day for even a couple of hours was near-impossible without someone noticing and she had sworn never to use the Time-turner again. She began scouting around for a spare room from where she might depart and return, then claim she had been there all along. 

"Where have you been?" whispered Ron at the start of a Transfiguration class. "You missed break completely." 

"Oh... uuh... I was looking for somewhere I could do extra studying without interruption," said Hermione. "The common room is too noisy and even the library is distracting at times." 

"Take out your copies of _Intermediate Transfiguration_ , please," said McGonagall, "and study page forty before we continue, then I will answer any questions. You have ten minutes." 

"What's wrong with the reading room?" whispered Harry. 

"Have you been there lately?" said Hermione. 

"Not my favourite place," grinned Harry towards Ron. 

"Yes, well, let's just say the sound of snogging and giggling is not conducive to my immersing myself in my books." 

"Who's that then?" 

"Diggory and that pretty Ravenclaw girl with the eastern-sounding name." 

"Cho Chang?" whispered an astonished Parvati from Ron's other side. She looked as if she were writing it down and Hermione glared at her. 

Harry lifted his textbook to hide his mouth from McGonagall who was frowning their way. "But Diggory's a Huff, isn't he?" 

"So?" said Hermione. "If you're attracted to someone you just find an opportunity to talk to them and convey how you feel." 

"And snog," smirked Ron. 

"Well, yes... but the point is, you have to actually do something when you like someone in particular, no matter how gradual." She stared at Harry and he shifted uncomfortably. 

"So... is that what you're...." Harry began. "I mean, when you're disappearing every five minutes?" 

She scowled. "No, I am NOT!" McGonagall glared. Hermione looked up at the ceiling and worked her mouth silently, pretending she had been memorising aloud from the book. _Did he suppose I'm secretly meeting a boyfriend! Trust Harry Potter to miss the point! GINNY was the point!_ She realised then that the charm would need to be extra powerful if it was to make him see what was right before his eyes! Perhaps she should rethink her entire strategy and get Ginny to convey her feelings to Harry first. Perhaps it was her duty as guardian to bring them together! If only she knew what was the ideal thing to do! 

"There you are again," said Ron. 

"Again, what?" said Hermione. 

"You keep drifting away somewhere." 

Hermione straightened up and tried to concentrate on her _Intermediate Transfiguration_. It's getting more and more difficult just to be a good friend, she told herself. 

  


Notice Given

When they followed Neville, Seamus, and Dean out of the classroom at the end of the lesson, Harry said, "Seriously, Hermione, people are talking." 

"About...?" 

"You, of course," said Ron. 

She stopped and several Ravenclaws coming up behind grumbled as they veered around the trio. 

"Why would anyone take any notice of me?" 

Harry stared back and forth between her and Ron. "Because you're a fifteen-year-old girl, of course! Even Ron's heard some of the girls—" 

Hermione forced a laugh. "I promise you I'm definitely not on their watch list." 

"Hermione, they're not going to talk about you when you're nearby, are they!" said Ron. 

"And half the boys in Hogwarts from about third-year upwards fancy you!" added Harry. "Some of the youngest ones too," he sniggered softly under his breath. 

Ron gawped at Harry but Hermione rolled her eyes and began striding onwards again. "Yes, of course they do." 

Ron and Harry trotted after her to catch up. "I'm serious, Hermione," said Harry. 

"It's okay, Harry, this is me, Hermione Granger, you don't need to patronise me." She regretted it immediately when she saw his face. 

"Look, I'm old enough to face the facts, aren't I?" she added quickly to explain herself. "Firstly, I should have worn braces years ago when Mum and Dad nagged me to — now look at them!" She bared her fangs briefly in a toothy grimace. "And hairbrushes cringe away when I go near a dressing table. I'm scrawny, lumpy, bossy, big-headed, a swot, and don't socialise much. But I'm not blind and deaf so I know how the other kids see me. I'm used to dealing with it. Besides, true friends can overlook your physical limitations, can't they, and that's what really matters." She glanced briefly back at Ron. 

They turned a corner. Ron had fallen silent, apparently brooding. They had almost reached the Entrance Hall before Harry spoke again, clearly he had been mulling over what she had said too: 

"Well, I never knew you thought about yourself that way, Hermione." 

Crowds of students surged like a tide around the foot of the main stairs, and the three had to navigate their way through. Neville joined them, shouting something they couldn't quite hear. Ron, being the tallest, could see a large notice at the centre of the thickest knot of children and he tried to read it to the others. 

TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT 

THE DELEGATIONS FROM BEAUXBATONS AND DURMSTRANG WILL BE ARRIVING AT 6 O'CLOCK ON FRIDAY THE 30TH OF OCTOBER. LESSONS WILL END HALF AN HOUR EARLY. 

"Brilliant!" said Harry. "Potions will be cut short!" 

Neville grinned but Hermione wasn't paying attention. Could the arrival be an opportunity for her to visit the Retreat again? The Tournament was only of moderate interest to Hermione but it seemed to have captivated everyone else and they certainly would not notice if she was absent. 

"There's Angelina," said Harry. "She still looks quite keen to enter. She's Gryffindor's best chance I reckon." 

"Fred and George still think they might get in; wish we could," said Ron, wistfully. "What you reckon, Hermione? You're the one with the bright ideas and the best spells." 

"Mmm...? No way, Ronald! You'd get yourself killed one second from the start of the first task. There's a reason why there's an age limit and you're not old enough." 

Ron seemed to shrink visibly, then, red-faced, he snapped, "Oh, and you are, I suppose? Just because you're a few weeks older than me." 

"I'm a good six months older than you and nearly a year older than Harry!" she said, raising her voice above the hubbub; she was having to shout to be heard. 

Ron glared back at her. "So you think you're better than us?" 

"I didn't say that! What's got into you!" 

But Ron had turned away and was sprinting up the marble stairs heading for Gryffindor Tower. 

Hermione looked at Harry who shrugged. "You were a bit hard on him, Hermione. I think he's still trying to live up to his older brothers' reputations. Charlie was Quidditch captain and both Percy and Bill were head boys. He wanted to impress you by showing he wasn't afraid to enter. He thought you might admire him." 

"But that's silly," said Hermione, as they started slowly up the stairs to get away from the noise. 

"No, it's not," said Neville, conspiratorially, as they reached the relative quietness of the first landing. "You two are his best friends. You're the best in our year, Hermione, and Harry's... well, he's Harry. It's hard for Ron. Believe me, I know." 

"But Neville, you're..." began Harry, unsure how to continue, unable to quickly think of any outstanding characteristics to be commended in Neville. 

"Yes, everyone has their strengths," said Hermione, rescuing Harry from what might have become an awkward situation. "For instance, they all look up to you in Herbology, Neville, not just Harry and I, but _everybody_." 

"Really?" 

"Course we all do," grinned Harry, seizing eagerly upon Hermione's compliment — though he had never given Neville's Herbology skills much thought before. 

Neville sprang up the steps more brightly after that; he stumbled here and there but bounced happily back with a silly smile on his face.  


—oOo— 

  
  
  


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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _The story won't dwell overlong on the Triwizard Tournament but I have to briefly include relevant parts of it. Most of the story is completely new material._


	4. The Hogwarts Champion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _So far... Harry's 4th year at Hogwarts. Hermione Portkeyed to the Peverell Retreat where she found amongst James's notes a protective spell which she has cast on Harry and awaits the results. But her thoughtless criticism of Ron's hopes of entering the Triwizard Tournament caused a falling-out with him. Meanwhile, Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students are due to arrive soon so Hermione plans to visit the Retreat again during the distraction. Now read on..._

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**Chapter 4**

**The Hogwarts Champion**

  
  
  


Halloween 

Unfortunately, Hermione's plan to sneak off before or during the arrival of the contingents from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons was thwarted because Hogwarts students barely had time to take their books and bags up to their dorms and grab their cloaks after the last lesson on Friday in order to get to the Entrance Hall in time. Ron was still sulky and kept apart. Hermione looked hurt too. Harry was torn between the two of them but felt he ought to try to smooth things over. 

"Look, Hermione, I'm not sure it's really about the Tournament with Ron." 

"It's not?" Hermione was preoccupied with looking along the drive as everyone was led outside onto the lawns. _Will they arrive by coaches, I wonder?_ she mused to herself. 

"Up there!" someone shouted. 

Everyone stared upwards. A huge blue carriage pulled by gigantic golden horses came soaring down to land with a crash nearby. 

"The Beauxbatons..." they heard one of the teachers murmur. 

After the distraction, Harry tried again, "I think it's... well, with you being a bit distant lately, and, kind of, sidling away when you think nobody's looking — he probably thinks you've lost interest in him, actually." Harry let the last few words out in a rush as if he was glad to be rid of something he'd been bottling up for days. As he did so, there was a commotion in the lake as a tall masted ship arose out of the waters and anchored nearby. 

"But that's not true! I haven't lost interest in Ron," pouted Hermione, paying no attention to those disembarking from the grand vessel in the lake. "We were getting along fine but I just need..." She thought for a few moments then said mournfully, "Oh, he's so right. I hadn't been thinking of him at all. Ooh, I'm dreadful!" 

She looked around for Ron but he was staring gob-smacked at one of the Bulgarian students, as he stepped down from the galleon. 

"I think that's Krum!" said Harry, thankful to be distracted from the pain in Hermione's expression. "I'm sure it is. It's Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker we saw at the World Final. That'll put Ron in a better frame of mind and maybe you'll get a chance to patch things up with him tomorrow." 

But Ron didn't seem any more approachable the next morning at all. If anything, he was worse as they prepared to go down for breakfast. The nearest she got to conversation resulted in him pushing by her so rudely she decided to let him cool off for a few more hours. As it was a Saturday, there were no lessons to force them together and she might have a better chance to sneak away to the Peverell Retreat. Then she could concentrate on trying to make it up to Ron. 

As she and Harry descended the marble staircase into the Entrance Hall, they found it more congested than normal. The Goblet of Fire had been placed in the centre of the hall. Angelina had already put in her name slip and others were excitedly watching students from all three schools adding theirs too. Ron was standing by looking dejected. He hurried off into the Great Hall when he saw Harry and Hermione. Her shoulders sagged. 

"He's just being a prat," said Harry, then added hastily in an effort to give her some slender comfort, "He'll come round." 

"Yes, but he's making it harder on himself! Why do people do that?" 

They hung back a minute before following him in. The Great Hall had been transformed overnight ready for the Halloween feast that evening. Live bats were flying above and there were carved pumpkins along the tables and in the corners. They spotted Ron hedged in by Seamus and Dean on one side, and Ginny and Neville on the other. He looked miserable. When he saw Hermione, his demeanour changed to a strained, hollow joviality, laughing falsely at something the girls opposite him — Parvati and Lavender — were saying. Harry sighed and led Hermione to the empty places just beyond the two girls. 

"Trust Snape to give us extra homework to make up for leaving his class early yesterday," grumbled Harry as he reached for a bacon sandwich. "I mean, it wasn't our fault was it! That's Saturday ruined for starters." 

"We're leaving ours till tomorrow," said Parvati. "It is Halloween after all!" 

Hermione shook her head reprovingly but said nothing. She would have to do library research before even beginning the first of the Essays that Snape had demanded. Then there was Charms and History work to finish too. Maybe, if she really worked hard and skipped lunch, she might finish by early afternoon... but what then could she do about Ron? She turned to Harry. 

"Perhaps if I let him go over my notes — oh, I might as well write the lot out for him this once!" said Hermione. "Or would he take that the wrong way, you think? Like I'm telling him he's incapable?" 

"They reckon Warrington got up early and put his name in," Dean was saying loudly. 

Ron said, "Not a Slytherin champion! We can't—" 

"No way!" said Hermione, seizing her chance to join in and be agreeable to him. "Anyone but a Slytherin!" 

"Who asked for your opinion?" snapped Ron, loudly enough that an astonished hush fell upon all the Gryffindors within hearing distance. 

Hermione turned her head away, eyes glistening. Harry glared at Ron but was ignored. Ron's words had stung him as much as Hermione. 

"Take no notice, Hermione," he urged her in a low voice. 

She left breakfast early without him and Harry decided she needed some space for a while, so he delayed his own departure. When he returned to the common room she was already absorbed in her Potions homework and appeared to have gotten over Ron's spat — or was she concealing her pain? He sat down at the table next to her and dragged out his own books, though he didn't feel at all like working yet. 

"Erm..." he began, wondering what to say. 

"I've made a provisional list of likely ingredients for the homework," Hermione said briskly before Harry could continue. She slid a piece of note paper over to him. "I'll go to the library in a bit and start searching to confirm which of them is correct. I'll let you know what I find." 

Harry nodded. "In that case I'll start on my History. Don't know why Snape can't just tell us the ingredients!" 

"We're supposed to evaluate which attributes fit the required results ourselves," explained Hermione in a subdued tone that surprised Harry, "so we learn to understand _why_ the potion works." She frowned at her own words. _Was the Blessing trying to teach them a lesson as well, instead of merely changing Harry's life?_

Their quills scratched away. Books were consulted. Other students were drifting back now. Hermione began wondering again how she could ever find a spare hour or two without being observed. Her last opportunity would be to use the evening's Halloween feast as a cover for a trip to the Retreat. Nobody would miss her in the excitement of the champions' selection. Perhaps she would get lucky and sort this Blessing out once and for all! 

As evening approached, she let it be known she was emotionally drained, tired out, had been suffering a headache all day, and was withdrawing to her bed very early — it was all half-true anyway, she told her guilty feelings. The banquet would be lengthy. Once alone in her bed, she could Portkey to the Retreat and be back in her bed almost before it was over. Hopefully, she'd clarify her confusion over how the Blessing was supposed to work and be done with it in one night! 

"But you can't miss Halloween — not this one!" Harry protested — though not very fervently; he knew she would not have celebrated Halloween with any passion, given Ron's moodiness. In a way, some advantage might be gained. He could sit with Ron at the meal without feeling guilty, smooth things over so at least he didn't think Harry was spending more time with Hermione than his best mate, then somehow persuade him to at least talk to her again. He had to at least try, for her sake. 

  


Back To The Retreat

The large record book of James Potter was daunting in its scale and scope. Hermione frowned. So much material was written within it that he must have frequented the Peverell house for months. These included personal creations: a magical recipe of Lily's to spice up fruitcake, a luxurious bath essence charmed from a single flower petal, and James had made a soothing liniment for aching feet. Many were the topics of research yet even after more than an hour, she still could not quickly uncover any other reference to Merlin's Blessing than that which she had already found. Moreover, some of the notes were vague or referred to other knowledge she could not locate: sometimes a book or a list, other times code letters such as _Ingredient F_ or _Stir J._

What did attract her attention was a reference to the spectre from which James had fled in panic. This confirmed the spectre was present in their era and since the creature was now the mistress of the house then it had to be one of James's female ancestors, and no older than a hundred and fifty years surely? Hermione tried to recall the horrible vision: short, hunched over, humpbacked; skin creased with age; a face made bestial by a jutting, almost gorilla-like jaw — what event had taken place to cause such a terrible physical and magical aberration, for surely she must have begun life as a normal woman? No man could have knowingly married such a beast much less have had children by her — and the descendants seemed normal. She smiled at the absurd thought of baby Harry sitting on great-granny's knee. 

Hermione replaced Lily's bookmark and closed the record book with a thump of frustration. If only Harry's father were still here to ask! Or she there in his time! The rebellious idea had slipped into her head and was immediately rejected, angry at herself for even allowing its admission. The very worst thing she could do with the Time-turner would be to deliberately interact with anyone in the past! No, she was not Harry Potter! And she would never, ever, use the fake Time-turner again! The answer had to lie in the present, it just had to. Perhaps the Peverell library held the knowledge she sought. 

Lady Candria was not at her favourite reading table but browsing a shelf of books with her daintily-slippered feet gliding six feet above the floor. Hermione smiled; one of the perks of being a ghost is that one did not need to employ the rolling ladder. What surprised the young girl was that when Candria eventually drifted silently down, a book was following her through the air. 

"You can do magic? A ghost can perform magic? And read books without help?" Hermione, forgetting her manners, stared in astonishment. 

Candria, startled by Hermione's sudden appearance, had to compose herself quickly, and the book almost toppled to the floor. She smiled. 

"Not at all, my Lady, yet magicks mayest enchant ghostly spirits such as I — this thou knew surely?" 

Hermione nodded and watched as the book hovered in the air before her and the pages riffled through unaided by physical fingers before chasing after the ghost once more towards her favourite seat. 

"I wast sister to Lord Tybalt Peverell, then Lord of the Houses of Peverell, fruitfully engaged in caring for and tutoring his children when death took me." 

Hermione suppressed the urge to ask how, but Candria supplied the information freely, "I foolishly spurned a suitor to whom my brother kindly introduced me. A cursed and damn'd letter received two days thence ended my life — yet I couldst not bear to leave Tybalt's poor darling children whom I loved greatly, so here I am. They have long since gone on to a happier realm, of course." 

The flimsy apparition sighed a breathless sigh. "My dear, dear brother, heavyhearted that he wast party to my downfall, cast an enchantment on this library and on my spirit that whatsoever book I wished couldst be read therefrom by intent, that is, by my will. In this wise I hath kept abreast of newer additions from family members, extended my knowledge to several disciplines, and taught many generations of Peverell children." 

Hermione spoke without thinking. "And what of the present owner's... offspring?" 

There was a brief pause before Candria answered. "None thus far, my Lady. 

"Thus far! So that creature has a... spouse? Who then is—?" 

The ghost turned and glided away a few paces. "Thou wert blessed with the freedom of these few chambers, my Lady; of beyond that, I durst not give account." 

"But the spectre," cried Hermione, carried away by excitement, "she must be mother or grandmother or... great aunt to James ... related by blood or law! Why then is he—?" 

"Prithee do not press me further on this matter, I entreat thee." The pages of all the books laying before her on the table fluttered back and forth in such an agitated manner that Hermione and a nearby candle felt a distinct breeziness. 

Hermione clapped her hand over her mouth in dismay. "I do beg your pardon, Lady Candria, I forgot myself." 

Candria expression calmed very quickly. "You are always most gracious, my Lady." 

"Always?" Hermione frowned. "Tell me just one thing; how can you be sure she is truly Mistress of the Peverell Estate?" 

"Why, she doth bear the same ring of course; the one bestowed by—!" 

"MY LADY CANDRIA!" thundered Lord Cautius who had entered at that moment and stood shaking with annoyance — no, it was fear, Hermione decided — in the doorway. 

"Forgive me, Cautius; I wast inattentive but for a moment. Too many seasons in want of engaging conversation didst make me over-eager." 

Hermione's mouth was wide in astonishment and her eyes flicked back and forth between the two ghosts. Who was it that had given a ring to the strange creature? And why did that confirm her as the authentic Lady of the House? A spectre, no less? How Hermione longed to discuss events with Harry! But she must be patient until the Blessing had proven itself. 

On the pretext of casual browsing, Hermione carefully hunted through the bookshelves. It did not take too long to narrow down her search to the section on wizarding families, biographies, and pure-blood lines. Hermione almost missed the book she wanted because it had been replaced well out of order. Only a fleeting glimpse of a gold circle within a triangle on a dark blue leather spine drew her attention or she would not have found it. 

She glanced at Lily's watch: students would be returning from the Halloween feast soon and she must return before they did — she had to hurry! 

James's mother had died before she was sixty — far too young to be the aged spectre. Hermione's eyes searched the page before, and she blinked in astonishment at what she saw. His grandfather, Galfrid Potter, had died in his eighties, but his wife's name had been almost scoured from the page! They couple had met when she had visited from the continent to venture upon an historic maiden voyage — but Hermione's attention was on the name. The forename might have been Deidre, or perhaps Heidi, but the surname was lost — and there was no date shown for her death! Hermione glanced nervously over her shoulder. Lady Candria was occupied guiding a magical quill over her notes. Lord Cautius must have left the room. Hermione quickly duplicated the page, stuffed it into her bag to read more thoroughly later, then touched the inner face of Lily's wristwatch... 

  


Celebrating Too Soon

"How are you _feeling_ , Hermione?" 

Hermione froze in her bed. It had been Parvati's voice and it had sounded like she was grinning. 

"Not too bad thank you." 

"I brought you some thick pea soup and fresh bread. Thought you might be hungry." Parvati sounded excited. 

Hermione frowned. She got along reasonably well with Parvati but they were not this close. She pulled back the hangings of her four-poster and peered out. Parvati stood there wearing a lopsided kind of smile, and holding a tray, steaming with hot food. It was very late and Hermione had not eaten that evening. _Why not?_ She sat up. 

"Erm... thanks, Parvati." 

"There's more downstairs if you want it!" cried Parvati, as she left the room. "Cakes, and buns, and biscuits, and tea, and hot Butterbeer and..." — she giggled oddly — "Firewhisky!" Her voice grew fainter the further down the steps she descended but that did not hide her continued fervour. 

There was a distant muted cheer from the floor below. Hermione broke off a thick piece of bread and dunked it into the soup. _Aha!_ Hermione guessed at what had happened and the cause of rejoicing. _Angelina has been selected as the Hogwarts' champion and stopped up late to celebrate with a few of her friends._

Hungrily, she finished her soup, wishing there was more, and sat there listening to the muffled laughter from below. Probably Fred and George would be there and... maybe Harry. What if he and Ginny...? Well, if there was more free food waiting it would be a shame to waste it. She could creep down and grab a few biscuits and a piece of cake, maybe congratulate Angelina, then slip back upstairs — the older girl wouldn't be offended if she didn't stay long. 

She put aside the tray, pulled on her dressing gown and then, hearing another faint cheer from below, she donned a light travel cloak on top of her gown and crept downstairs. 

The festive noise grew louder as she descended the steps but the moment the common room came into sight there was an immediate silence. Dozens of faces were staring at her and she self-consciously tugged her cloak more tightly around herself. 

The cheer that then went up threatened to raise the roof and every smiling face and clapping hand moved forward to meet her. 

"Fantastic job!" "Brilliant!" "Done us proud!" "You're the best, Hermione!" 

Harry was frowning and looking at her very strangely but Fred and George were wolf-whistling and Seamus burst into song. Hermione searched for Angelina and spotted her waving across the room. Hermione gave her the thumbs up, nodding her approval vigorously. 

Then she was being mobbed. Sweets and scones and goblets of butterbeer were thrust into her hands. Her back was aching from being slapped and her hair was ruffled up like a yak in a tornado. 

"Genius! Sheer genius!" cried Fred, "Harry's making out he knows nothing of course but who cares! — we've got a Gryffindor champion!" 

_Oh, no... Harry, what have I done?_ Hermione's eyes darted around looking for Harry's face. Had she inadvertently cursed him with bad luck? Or had the Blessing set him off on a dangerous venture from which he might benefit only if he survived? 

"Harry won't tell us. How'd you get the name in, Hermione?" cried George. "You left it till the last second right? After the age line was removed? Fred reckons that wasn't Filch carrying the Goblet into the Great Hall — it was you! Come on, 'fess up! Lav saw your bed was empty early on!" 

"Well, I, erm... as I said, felt worn out, exhausted really. And my head was pounding so—" 

A mountain of laughter deafened her. _What is going on?_

"Seriously though," said Fred, "How'd you do it, Hermione?" 

"Do it?" said Hermione, faintly. 

"McGonagall's livid. You're for it in the morning!" laughed Dean. 

"You should have seen Karkaroff though!" another voice cried. 

"Diggory looked a bit sick too!" said yet another. 

"Come on, Hermione, spill the beans. How'd you get an underage name accepted by the Goblet of Fire?" said Fred. 

"I what? I didn't! Whose—?" 

" _A TOAST, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!_ " thundered George, "To our own Hogwarts champion — Hermione Granger!" 

As her name was saluted, Hermione grabbed hold of George's arm to steady herself but her pallid expression was ignored. More laughter erupted from the crowd accompanied by further backslapping, cake thrusting, and butterbeer toasting. 

"But you have to believe me..." protested Hermione weakly. 

After that, no matter what Hermione said, nobody would listen to her denials and she found herself rotated around the room from group to group, receiving accolade and praise and applause wherever her eyes fell or her ears listened. Until finally, she abandoned her denials as futile; somehow she had to escape. 

  


Rescue

It was Harry who rescued her. He managed to wedge through between her and a gaggle of seventh years and guide her to a corner near the boys' stairs. He shook his head. 

"What happened, Hermione?" 

"I never put my name in, Harry, I swear it!" 

"Of course not. I meant any ideas how it happened? Who fixed it?" 

"So, _you_ believe me?" Hermione felt an amazing gush of gratitude towards her friend. 

He blinked a few times and looked puzzled. "Of course I do. You said so, didn't you? Anyway, why would you? No, I've been wondering if it was George and Fred. After they got rejected they were muttering and mumbling together wondering where they went wrong. Perhaps they figured out a way but it wouldn't work on them because they had already been thrown out. So, they'd pick a Gryffindor they thought might have the best chance. I noticed they were leading the chorus — they were the ones who smothered your objections the loudest." 

"Three cheers for Hermione Granger!" someone shouted. 

"But I have no chance, Harry! It's dangerous even for seventh-years. I'm definitely not taking part." 

"Hip, hip!" 

"Glad to hear it. For a while I was worried you'd feel you had to continue with it for the sake of Gryffindor." 

"HOORAY!" 

Hermione waved one of her goblets at the crowd and tried to smile. 

"I have to get out of here, Harry. Please help me." 

"Hip, hip!" "HOORAY!" 

She felt his hand on her arm guiding around and up the boys' stairs. 

"Ooo!" came a cry which was taken up by many. "Give 'er a big _thankshyou_ off _mee's'well, Hally!_ " shouted Lee, struggling to align his lips with a goblet that swayed from side to side in his hand. 

  


Out of the Frying Pan

But someone else was already in the boys' dormitory — though he didn't look ready to congratulate Hermione. 

"Happy now, are you?" It was Ron and his glare was darker than ever before. "Now you've proved you can do stuff nobody else can? Now you're the centre of attention? " 

"She didn't do it, Ron!" said Harry. "It was a mistake. I told you it must be." 

"Yeah, right. I'm surprised you're not in it as well. Everyone in Hogwarts in it except for stupid, dumb Ron Weasley who would only last one second." 

"Ron..." began Hermione, "I meant that none of us would have lasted one—" 

"Don't! I don't want to hear it!" 

"I never—" 

"DON'T LIE!" bellowed Ron, and the noise downstairs died away suddenly. "Supposed to be feeling worn out weren't you? Bad headache? Amazing what being worshipped can do to cure you ain't it! Don't deny it — your bed was SEEN to be empty! " He turned away and flung himself down on his bed. 

"Ron, you're being a total prat!" cried Harry. 

"Yeah, that's me alright, One-second Weasley, the total prat who never..." He sat up suddenly. "You helped her, didn't you! You're in it together! Don't tell me, will you! Don't..." He rounded then on Hermione. "What was it you said before about me? 'Oh, you're not old enough, Ronald.' " — he had raised the pitch of his voice to a high singsong falsetto by now — " 'I'm six months older than yoohoo!' " He sagged down suddenly. "So that's it, then. You're way beyond me. I might have known you'd always be well above someone as useless as me." 

He pulled the drapes around the four-poster rather roughly, still cursing and muttering to himself, while Harry and Hermione stared dumbfounded. 

  


Consideration and Consolation

Harry sighed and signalled to Hermione that they'd better go back downstairs. That's when he saw her eyes were swimming with tears. 

He grabbed his invisibility cloak, pulled it over them both, then, gripping her firmly around the waist — without clenching away this time — led her quietly down and out to the reading room. Harry guided her to the back of the chamber where they found the draught from an open window had doused the wall candles. He closed the window but the only illumination now filtered through gaps in the bookshelves from the centre of the chamber or what little torchlight glimmered from Hogwarts' other towers through the closed panes of the casement. 

There was, of course, no one else in the room at this late hour, but he chose not to relight the candles. They sank down together onto a shadowy bench that rounded within the window niche before he removed the cloak. Her eyes were still bright even in the gloom. He tried to think of something comforting to tell her. 

"Ron can be a right git at times. We'll find a way, Hermione. Get you out of this. Maybe he'll see reason if we can find how to get you out of competing." 

"Find? There's no need to find anything. I'm not competing and that's flat. Why would I? 

"I was just wondering... now don't get mad at me but..." 

"What, Harry?" 

"Suppose you took part but did dreadfully badly? Do you suppose Ron might take pity on you? Like, because he wouldn't feel so... inferior? Surely he couldn't be horrible to you then?" 

One glimpse of Hermione's expression and Harry instantly felt ashamed of his own suggestion. He tried to force a grin. "Not seriously — I was only—" 

"You mean show everyone I'm a complete failure?" 

She lowered her head and Harry was unable to think how to get out of his suggestion. _Me and my big mouth!_

"I suppose it couldn't be any worse, could it," she murmured almost to herself, "and it might help his confidence..." 

Harry stared aghast at the top of her head. _Surely she couldn't be—?_

"I'll keep it in mind, Harry, if you really think it would help him — but, well, the fact is I'm more likely to fail anyway, but in the worst possible way. Some of the tasks imposed in previous tournaments have been dangerous even by adult standards. An eighteen-year-old prefect was stung and half-devoured by a Manticore in the fifteenth century before all the school heads together could subdue it — and there are much more deadly creatures than Manticores, Harry: demons and dragons and goodness knows wh—" 

"Oh, Hermione, they wouldn't go to that extreme! I'm sure they wouldn't!" 

"And it won't be just beasts either," persisted Hermione. "A young witch who failed to counter an advanced plunge curse in time fell into the ground itself. They never found her body even though they excavated hundreds of feet down. You see? It really can be over very quickly. Failure is not just humiliation in the Triwizard Tournament, Harry." 

Harry sighed. "We'll just have to trust Dumbledore will get you out of it somehow then." 

"What did the headmaster actually say?" She peered at his face in the darkness. 

"He wants to see you in the morning in his office at nine-fifteen, didn't anyone tell you?" 

"No." 

"I hope Maxime and Karkaroff aren't there. Listen, you want to avoid them; they were really angry. Oh, and..." Harry groaned. 

"What is it, Harry?" 

"Don't go to breakfast in the morning. I'll bring you something up." 

"Why not?" 

"Well, for one, the Hufflepuffs are totally livid because of Diggory! They think you cheated and are stealing his limelight." 

"Oh, right. He was favourite to get chosen." He could see her pursing her lips. "I hadn't thought of that — it's so unfair on him." 

"He _was_ chosen." 

"What? How could he be? If I got picked?" 

The shadow of an owl on its way to the owlery flickered past their window. 

Harry took a deep breath. "Diggory got chosen for Hogwarts then, a bit later, your name came out as well. There are four Triwizard champions now." 

"Impossible!" 

"That's what they said." 

"But that proves it. They must know I'm not a valid entrant. I'm not even old enough so that disqualifies me anyway. It's even simpler then, I don't compete and they've got three champions and everyone's happy." Hermione brightened up a little and Harry could see her expression relaxing. She let out a long sigh of relief. He was reluctant to spoil that. 

Harry stared at the top of the reading platform by their side, trying unsuccessfully to make out the scratches of graffiti in the dark. The only shape he recognised was a heart with—! A shock had ran up his spine so severely that he was sure Hermione had felt it too because she moved against him as if surprised. It had suddenly occurred to him that this very seat must have been where Diggory and that pretty eastern girl had been kissing — and Hermione was the one who had informed them all of it! What must she think of him now! 

He wanted to pull away from her but that would have been so obvious it most certainly would be worse than if he remained snuggled against her. Instead, he said lamely, "There's some kind of magical contract..." 

"You can't have a contract without an agreement and I've never agreed to anything." 

"Dumbledore will find out how to get around it, Hermione." 

There was silence for a while. 

"The Ravenclaws sort of sided with the Huffs," said Harry. "Then there's the Slytherins... Even some of the teachers are... frankly, except for Gryffindor, your name is mud at the moment." 

Hermione groaned. "Is there anyone not annoyed at me?" 

"Apart from me, let's see... there's... um... nobody I know of, Hermione." He smiled wryly. "Remind you of anyone?" 

"Yes, you — you being thought of as the heir of Slytherin in our second year! But stupid as that was, this is ten times more foolish." 

"Dafter than me being the Heir of Slytherin? Yes, I guess this is dafter. Hermione Granger, the smartest witch in her year, cheats her way into a suicidal tournament so she can experience what it's like to be even more unpopular." 

"Oh, Harry, don't..." She shuddered. 

"Sorry." He wrapped the cloak around them both again and they squeezed even closer together for warmth. He glanced up at the window to make sure it was shut tight. 

"Any theories?" he said at last. 

"Yes, it's obvious isn't it? Someone wants me dead." 

Harry stiffened in dismay. "But why? And who? It makes no sense. Who would want Hermione Granger dead?"  


—oOo— 

  
  
  


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	5. Change of Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _So far... Harry's 4th year at Hogwarts. Hermione Portkeyed to the Peverell Retreat in search of Merlin's Blessing. But somehow, her name was entered into the Goblet of Fire and there is growing resentment that she cheated her way into the Tri-Wizard Tournament to overshadow Cedric Diggory. Ron, in particular, is bitterly upset with her. Now read on..._

* * *

  


  


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**Chapter 5**

**Change of Plan**

  
  
  


Consequences 

The morning after the revelation that Hermione was a Hogwarts Champion in the Tournament, Harry slipped away from breakfast as early as he could, his pockets awkwardly stuffed with serviettes enwrapping bacon sandwiches, sausages, toast and marmalade, all together with a big mug of steaming tea which he held steady with one hand beneath his robes. Hermione pounced on him when he entered the common room and began devouring the food. 

"Steady on, Hermione, you've still got over thirty minutes before your appointment." 

His caution went unheeded. Hermione wolfed down a big mouthful. "I'll need time to get to the Headmaster's office and I went to get there early before the others leave the Great Hall." 

Harry nodded and reached for a sausage for which he got a slap on the wrist. After a while he went briefly out of the portrait hole to look and listen. When he came back in he said, "Still quiet out there." 

Hermione finished her tea, brushed crumbs off her robe into the hearth then squared her shoulders. "How'd I look?" She patted hopelessly at her hair. 

"You'll be fine, Hermione. Once Professor Dumbledore's sorted this out then he'll make an announcement at lunch and everything will be fine again." 

But as she made her way to meet the Headmaster, Hermione felt anything but fine. An ugly stone gargoyle guarded the entrance to his office. 

Hermione waited a few moments for it to say something then, when it remained sullenly silent, she declared, "I'm here to see Professor Dumbledore. I have an appointment." 

"No you haven't!" scoffed the gargoyle without even turning its head. "The Headmaster hasn't any appointment at this time. Clearly, you don't know everything, Miss Know-it-all!" 

"But... oh, please let me in, it's important!" 

"Oooh, in _that_ case I shall watch with interest. Should be a simple matter for someone so skilled at illegal entry as yourself to get into the Headmaster's office without an appointment." 

"I never...! Look I really do have an appointment for nine-fifteen. You must let me in." 

"Nine-fifteen you say? Well, that explains it. The — big — hand — needs — to — be — on — the — three," the gargoyle began, as if talking to a four-year-old, "and the little hand—" 

"But it's almost five past nine! I'm only a little early." 

"Then you must return at the correct time, mustn't you? We do things without cheating around here — unlike someone not a spit away from where I am coughing up..." The ugly creature fruitily began clearing its throat. 

Hermione growled under her breath. Far off down the corridors she could faintly hear the sound of students — breakfast was over. "I'll wait here." 

"Suit yourself — you usually do," the gargoyle said. "The rest of us follow procedure." 

A groan escaped Hermione's lips she folded her arms and grumpily leaned back against the wall. The noise in the distance was growing louder. It seemed an age until Harry's watch reached the correct time. 

"Now will you let me in?" 

"You've forgotten the magic word." 

"What! Oh, very well... _please_ will you let me in?" 

"Spineless bootlicking will not gain you entry here; you need the magic word — the password." 

"But how am I supposed to—?" 

She was interrupted by the chatter of a couple of Hufflepuffs turning into the corridor — a conversation which just as abruptly stopped when they saw Hermione. "Erm... Hi!" Hermione said rather timidly. 

Justin Finch-Fletchley merely glared at her and Ernie McMillan scowled as they passed. She distinctly heard Justin say in a deliberately-loud whisper "If there's any justice she'll be expelled for this — and good riddance," before they disappeared beyond the other end of the passage. 

"Now you're late! The Headmaster will be furious!" sniggered the gargoyle. 

"YES, I AM!" thundered Professor Dumbledore, as the wall split apart, staggering the gargoyle to one side, and the Headmaster burst forth. "I do not like to be kept waiting! I shall remind you later about the procedure for appointments." He turned then to Hermione who was trembling. His blues eyes were twinkling and she almost thought he winked at her. "This way Miss Granger." 

Only then did she realise he had been addressing the gargoyle. Nevertheless, Hermione was still nervous as she was led up and into the Headmaster's office to find McGonagall already there looking rather severe. 

"Take a seat Miss Granger." Dumbledore gestured towards the chair in front of his desk. He himself went behind the desk and sat down. "Lemon drop? ... You missed breakfast?" he added with another twinkle. 

Hermione shook her head and guiltily wiped toast crumbs away from her lips. "No, thank you, Headmaster." 

"Miss Granger," the Headmaster steepled his hands before him and frowned inwardly for the right words, "I have to ask you: did you or did you not enter your name in the Goblet of Fire?" 

Hermione squared herself up in her seat. "No, Professor, I did not!" 

"Did you get anyone else to put your name in?" 

"No, sir." 

"And have you any idea why your name might have been entered?" 

"Yes, sir, I'm a Muggle-born; clearly someone wishes to have me killed." 

She heard McGonagall gasp behind her, and out of the corner of her eye, Hermione sensed her moving forward, but Dumbledore made a tiny gesture with his hand and the deputy headmistress stopped her approach. 

"Have you any idea who?" 

"No, Professor." 

"You seem very resolute and sure of yourself, Miss Granger." Dumbledore took an extra long deep breath. "You do appreciate the dangers you will face?" 

"Headmaster...!" McGonagall did step closer then. 

"Dangers? But I thought it was understood? I have not entered my name in the Tournament so obviously, I am not in the Tournament." 

Dumbledore frowned. "I'm afraid you have no choice. Entering a name in the Goblet constitutes a binding magical contract that—" 

"To which I have not agreed! Headmaster, I'm only fifteen years old." 

"And knowledgeable beyond your years, Miss Granger." Dumbledore's eyes flickered towards McGonagall who did not know whether to look proud or more worried than she already did. 

"Headmaster, I would not enter the Tournament even if I was an adult, let alone a seventeen-year-old. I've looked it up — students have died in previous such tournaments." 

"That was before the of-age requirement I have insisted upon this year. Other precautions have also been added. Of course, no one can say there is no risk whatsoever but—" 

"It is irrelevant. I have no intention of taking part. Headmaster, would you please tell me the procedure for retiring from the Tournament?" 

Dumbledore's frown deepened and he shook his head sadly. "Miss Granger, there is no way to break the magical contract." 

"Then what will happen when I do not participate? House points? Detention?" 

The stare returned to her was one of astonishment. "Miss Granger, this is a Ministry Tournament not an exclusively Hogwarts one. If you break such a contract, your magic will be taken away from you." 

Hermione's jaw dropped. "I'll be a... Squib?" 

Dumbledore shook his head. "You were not born of magical folk, Miss Granger, so you will become a Muggle." 

Open-mouthed she returned Dumbledore's stare, but hers was one of shock. She sat there numbly, vaguely aware that McGonagall had summoned a house-elf to bring them tea. 

"Here, drink this," the teacher said. There was a kindly note to her voice. 

The cup was taken and sipped at, but Hermione's mind was not on it. "If I have to choose between life and magic — I choose life," she said eventually. 

McGonagall looked aghast, Dumbledore astonished. "You need time to reconsider. You cannot mean to forsake your magic so hurriedly..." 

Placing the cup down on the desk, Hermione studied their expressions. "For you, magic _is_ life, but I managed very well without it until a little over three years ago, since which I have not been allowed to use it — oh, learn about it, yes, but never use it in my daily life. I was raised as a Muggle; we do not miss what we never had." 

She set her mouth grimly and nodded to herself. They could tell she was trying to convince herself of her own words — to accept her fate. "There are more important things in life... books, study, advancing oneself, friendship..." she muttered. 

"You have not thought this through carefully enough yet," said McGonagall, gently, putting a hand on Hermione's shoulder. "Hogwarts can only teach magical children. Miss Granger... you won't be able to remain here. You won't even be able to see Hogwarts any longer." 

Once again, Hermione's expression was one of astonishment. She took up the cup again and began shakily gulping down tea. 

"Headmaster, in that case, I have to speak to my parents. I cannot return home unannounced. I need their advice. If they wish me to participate in the Tournament then I will stay. But I'm certain they won't — not when they learn how dangerous it is." 

Dumbledore and McGonagall exchanged disappointed glances — perhaps it was they, thought the Headmaster, who had not thought the situation through carefully enough. 

"Very well, Miss Granger." He turned to McGonagall. "Would you arrange the visit, please, Minerva? Tomorrow, if possible." 

  


Friends No More

When Hermione returned to the common room, a small knot of excited Gryffindors quickly moved towards her, apparently — from their chatter — under the impression she had been receiving confirmation of her place and perhaps even advice from the Headmaster. 

"Is it fixed?" said Lavender. "What's the first task?" Her eyes were shining enthusiasm and... was that _admiration?_

Hermione stared at them all. More students were approaching, attracted by the commotion — like vultures to a kill, it seemed to her. "It's fixed alright — I'm leaving soon." 

"Leaving?" frowned Parvati. "We thought the Tournament would take place here at Hogwarts. What about the rest of us? Do we all have to travel?" 

"I mean just me — I'm leaving Hogwarts. I won't be in the Tournament." 

The room became so quiet that only the crackle of the log fire was to be heard. 

"You're expelled? Just for cheating your way into the Tournament?" cried Fred, aghast at how close he and his brother had come to the same fate. 

"I'm not expelled. I'm leaving of my own free will because I told the Headmaster I'm not competing in the Tournament — it's too dangerous." 

"But..." spluttered Seamus. 

"Wha...?" muttered Deane. 

"How can you do such a thing to us!" cried Katie. "I can't believe it!" 

"Well, I must say, I for one am not surprised she's running away," said Angelina, angrily. "Bit off more than you could chew this time, did you, Granger? Or feeling ashamed you stole my place!" 

"I did not steal your—!" began Hermione fiercely, but she was shouted down. 

"Did you even give any thought to how disappointed we'd be!" spat Alicia. 

Fred and George's faces had clouded darkly. "We've already placed heavy bets on you to survive at least two of the tasks. Everything we had! No show — no refund — we lose everything if you run off!" 

"Well, I'm sorry, but—" Hermione was struggling to control her emotions now. She hadn't had any appreciation of the depth of bitter feeling her retirement from the contest would cause. 

"You're really leaving Hogwarts?" 

Hermione rounded anxiously on the newcomer who had pushed his way through the gathering. It was Harry. "You're actually leaving us?" he repeated. He looked bewildered and hurt. 

Hermione stared at him. She had forgotten her promise to be the best friend — no, the best _sister_ — she possibly could be for him. "Well, I... it uuh... depends on my parents." 

"I doubt Viktor Krum's going to ask Mummy and Daddy to hold his hand through the three tasks," crowed Angelina. 

"Just shut it, will you!" snapped Harry. "She never put her name in the Goblet in the first place!" 

"We see she's got you convinced, Harry," snorted Seamus. "Wonder what she had to do to persuade—" 

Harry's fist collided firmly with Seamus's nose. Caught off guard, he staggered back momentarily then threw himself at Harry — but someone pulled him off and pinned him against the wall. "Cool it, Finnegan, you were bang out of order!" It was Ron. 

Was everyone mad? Hermione didn't know whether to laugh or cry. She did both, fleeing hysterically up to her dormitory to escape the contemptuous scrutiny of what seemed to be every student in Gryffindor. 

But not everyone..... 

Neville and Ginny came over to Harry. "We're not any part of this, Harry," said Ginny. "Should I go up to her, you think?" 

Harry gazed through them both for a few moments, not comprehending who they were or what had been asked. "Mmm... yes... do that... thank — Give her a few minutes then go up. Yes, thanks, Ginny." 

  


The Condemned's Last Meal

Whether it was Ginny's words that comforted Hermione or her own Gryffindor courage, next morning she was resolved not to hide away any longer but face the rest of the school for breakfast, after all, she told herself, it might be her last meal before leaving Hogwarts forever. With a heavy heart she had been summoned to McGonagall's office to learn that Mr and Mrs Granger would arrive by Floo very soon and Hermione was to go straight up to the Headmaster's office immediately after breakfast. She could then leave with them if that was their decision, McGonagall had added. 

Neville was waiting outside McGonagall's office as Hermione left. He looked at her as she passed but she scarcely noticed him or McGonagall's stern cautionary message fading behind her: 

"Ah, Longbottom, I wished only to confirm that last year's ban on your visiting Hogsmeade is now lifted. I hope you have absorbed and learnt the serious failings of your writing down passwords...?" 

Hermione dragged her feet towards the Great Hall. At least this final breakfast would not be too drawn out — she was already ten minutes late and could excuse herself early then dash upstairs. The stouthearted Gryffindor girl bit her lip; she really did not want her mother — or anyone else — to see her crying. 

With head held high she marched over to the Gryffindor table, ignoring the hostile atmosphere and hissed comments as she passed. 

"Who does she think she is?" "Not enough to show off in class, has to spoil the Tournament too!" "Look at her prancing along!" "Nobody in our dorm ever liked her..." "I always said..." 

Whatever it was the speaker had always said, Hermione never heard for she stumbled awkwardly to a halt mid-stride. A wave of snickers and snorts passed around the hall at her clumsiness — or perhaps they hoped it was a hurt-filled reaction to their cruel jibes. But if they had studied her expression they would have been disappointed, for it was not their comments that had distracted her to a momentary standstill. Hermione's heart was surging with unexpected delight. Far along the Gryffindor table, facing the other way and slightly apart from the other students were Harry and Ginny, heads bent close together and deep in conversation. 

_YES!_ Hermione smiled as she resumed her walk. Passing quietly behind them she sat further along, alone but almost oblivious now of the snide remarks carrying over from the other tables. _The Blessing might have finally worked! Perhaps it had all been worth it after all!_

She resisted an urge to eavesdrop on their soft whispers but anyway, they were drowned out by the background chatter which seemed to have been raised a notch for her benefit: 

" _Granger's more Slytherin than Gryffindor if you ask me — both sneaky and cowardly._ " " _Sprout's fuming and I don't blame her!_ " " _...always thought Granger was a bit odd, didn't you?_ " One voice in particular seemed to be growing louder — was someone coming over? 

"Excuse me." 

Hermione groaned inwardly and began pouring milk on her cereals. 

"Excuse me." 

"What!" Hermione's spoon rattled shakily against the bowl of cornflakes and she tried to steady herself. 

"Is it true you deceitfully put your name in the Goblet of Fire?" 

Hermione twisted her head around and looked up. 

"Only that's what everyone is saying and it's so silly I don't believe it and I wanted to hear what you had to say yourself to clear up the matter." 

Hermione blinked and the face came into focus. It was that weird blonde girl with the ridiculous jewellery. 

"No, I most definitely did not put my name into the Goblet. Is that clear enough for you?" 

"Oh, that's what I thought. Thank you." 

Hermione instantly regretted her waspish reply — even felt a certain compassion as she watched the girl walk away and take up her own isolation at the Ravenclaw table. At least someone believed her, she thought, though she would have preferred it to have been someone who did not hang vegetables from their ears. 

"Hi." A boy was sliding onto the bench beside her. She resented that he was bridging the gap between herself and Harry and Ginny; she wanted them to continue to have some seclusion. 

"Off the record, McGonagall says there'll be a Hogsmeade weekend mid-November." It was Neville. 

"Yeah? That's great," said Harry, and she could tell by the directness of his voice that he was looking her way now. "Hermione? Didn't see you there. Fancy coming to Hogsmeade with me and Ginny instead? — if Ron's still got the hump, that is. What did McGonagall want?" 

Hermione hastily swallowed a mouthful of soggy cereal and she herself looked up then. "Me? Aren't you and...?" 

She looked at Ginny who's eyes widened briefly before she hurriedly responded, "We were just talking about where you were and whether you were seeing your parents in McGonagall's office and what they thought of it all and..." 

It sounded to Hermione as if Ginny was hastily over-explaining. It would be a terrible shame if she felt guilty about her and Harry becoming closer... or had she thought that Hermione herself had misunderstood...? _What if I have and they really were only talking about me?_ Hermione began to fluster "Oh, uuh... after b-breakfast, M-McGonagall said ... should b-be here by now ... I have to go up ... s-see them ... s-soon as I've finished here." She started shovelling corn flakes rapidly into her mouth to emphasise the point. 

"Oh, right." 

Harry's face conveyed that same broken expression as when she had first said she might be leaving. "They're only here to get you out of the Tournament, right? They just _have_ to! They'll _make_ Dumbledore do something?" 

"Harry, I..." 

"It's just not fair..." he mumbled, hardly daring to look her in the eye. 

She yearned to tell Harry how much his support and friendship meant to her but somehow the right words would not form on her lips. Her mouth opened... then closed again. 

A silence was also spreading along the rest of the Gryffindor benches and faces were turning Hermione's way. One face, Ron's face, had turned very pale. She dropped her spoon back into her cereal bowl and began brushing crumbs off her robes as she stood up. 

"I'd better go — get it over with, I suppose." There was a hollow sound to her voice. "Oh, Harry, I'll do everything I can to stay if it's possible but... oh, you can't expect me to compete, you just can't — can you?" 

"No, no, of course not..." murmured Harry. "It's just so sudden, I... wasn't ready..." He began to mumble, "It's not right... it's just not right..." 

Ginny had placed her hand over his then quickly withdrew it and adopted a sympathetic expression instead. But Hermione, unable to tell him she would be leaving with her parents and very unlikely to return, was already walking away. The Great Hall itself had caught something of the drama taking place at the Gryffindor table and had likewise lapsed into a softer hush of murmurs. Hermione did not look back as she went out the door. 

  


Death Threat

"Go straight up, you're expected," the gargoyle said stiffly, jumping to attention and moving aside the moment Hermione approached the entrance to the Headmaster's office. 

"Thank you." 

" _You're... wel ... come..._ " 

The gargoyle choked the words out as if it were strangling but was staring grimly ahead when Hermione glanced sideways in passing. Above her came the faint sounds of shouting and she hurried up the steps to find the office door was open. A worried-looking Dumbledore beckoned her in then closed the door behind her. 

"Mum! Dad!" 

Waves of relief surged through the girl as she hugged her parents but the emotion was short-lived. They were clearly very distressed, so much so that she heard the Headmaster saying he would give them all a few minutes of privacy. 

Startled, Hermione watched him withdraw into his inner chambers. Her father went to listen at the door as if to satisfy himself they could not be overheard. When he came back, Hermione noticed he was limping. 

"Dad?" 

"It's nothing." 

He waved a hand carelessly but Hermione was not fooled. Her mother too, had winced and withdrew her left arm when they had embraced. 

"What's going on?" said Hermione. 

Mrs Granger's eyes looked sore as if she had been weeping for hours. She could scarcely speak. "It's ... j-just th-that..." 

"Don't be upset for me," said Hermione airily, trying to sound mature. "The world doesn't revolve around Hogwarts. There are some good Muggle schools in our area. I can—" 

"This ... Tournament..." began her father, cutting her off, "just how risky do you think it might be?" 

Hermione stared. "Very! That's why I'm not staying. Why'd you think I'd—?" 

"The Headmaster assured us he will be on hand constantly to offer protection should anything get out of hand and he remarked how capable and careful and sensible you are. The thing is..." 

"You want me to risk my life!" 

"Of course not!" Mr Granger paused; he seemed to be wondering how to word what he had to say. "It's not that darling, we're merely trying to assess for ourselves how dangerous it—" 

"Something's happened, hasn't it? What else did Professor Dumbledore say to you?" 

Mr Granger exchanged looks with his wife. "It wasn't him..." 

"Who then? McGonagall?" 

Her father shook his head. "He had... fair... straw-coloured hair. His hands were very pale; we think his face was too. He sounded... thin — old before his time." 

"You _think?_ Who...? Where was this?" 

"We were ... at home. ... He wore ... a mask." 

Hermione stiffened then grabbed at her father's sleeve. "A Death Eater! I saw those foul people at the Quidditch Final last summer! We must tell Professor Dumbledore immediately!" 

Mr and Mrs Granger were shaking their heads vigorously. " _He made us swear!_ " Mrs Granger's voice was strained to a high-pitched whisper, almost hysterical. 

"Swear?" 

"Some kind of vow." 

"The Unbreakable Vow? He made you swear the Unbreakable Vow! Why'd you agree to—?" 

Mrs Granger began sobbing and clutched at her arm. "We had to, Hermione." 

"He hurt you?" 

She nodded. Several tears broke free and rolled down her cheeks. 

Hermione's eyes flared. "That's that then! We have to tell Dumbledore! I'm telling him right now!" She stomped off towards the far door. 

Mr Granger called out in a hoarse, strained whisper, "He said if we don't persuade you to take part, or if we betray him to anyone, tell anyone but you, then we..." He glanced nervously again past Hermione towards the door through which Dumbledore had gone, as if worried he might reappear any moment. 

Hermione's eyes showed her dismay and she gasped weakly, "No..." 

"But he says you're not in any danger from him and you're good enough to compete in all the tasks without serious risk!" added Mr Granger quickly. "That's why we wondered... with Professor Dumbledore watching over you...?" 

Hermione came back and sank down into the chair before the Headmaster's desk. Her gaze vaguely took in the tray of teacups upon it but her mind was far away. "Then why...?" 

"Oh, darling, of course we don't want you to face extreme peril!" cried Mrs Granger, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. "But all this... magic — it's beyond our understanding. That's why only you can decide for us. Just say the word and we'll all go away, all three of us... travel... where he can never find us!" 

Hermione found herself pouring tea. "It doesn't work like that. Your vow cannot bind _me_ directly but if I don't compete at all then it means you failed to persuade me... it means you would have broken the vow and—" 

Mr Granger cut in quickly, not wanting to hear in words what they all knew, "So, you see, with his saying you are not his target and Dumbledore's promise to protect you then perhaps...?" 

Hermione nodded firmly and handed out cups of tea as if they were comfortably at home on a Sunday afternoon and not debating life and death at the hands of a dark wizard. 

She forced a weak smile. "It'll probably be something like Cornish Pixies — there might be puzzles or ... or a simple labyrinth to solve, something like that is all. I already know many practical spells and... and I'll search the library for more! I can do this! And I don't need to push myself like the other competitors! It won't be as if I'm trying to win the Tournament, will it." 

She watched the terror in their eyes easing down to a controlled anxiety as they sipped their hot drinks. By the time Hermione had poured them all a second cup, the Headmaster had returned. 

"Professor Dumbledore, you do promise you will give our daughter your fullest protection during the tasks? You'll be there at all times?" said Mr Granger, replacing his empty cup firmly on the tray. 

"I promise. Yes, there will be minor risks but all competitors will be under my supervision at all times and should not come to any serious harm." 

"Very well then," said Hermione, placing her own cup down. "I've decided to participate — for the time being." 

"For the time being?" said Dumbledore. 

"I mean, if an opportunity arises to exit gracefully then I'll take it." 

Dumbledore eyes twinkled. "Excellent. I think you have made the right decision." 

After watching her distressed parents depart through Dumbledore's Floo, Hermione's shock and sorrow gave way to a seething fury. By the time she had snarled past the gargoyle downstairs, her steps had become an angry march towards her next class. 

_DEATH EATERS! How DARE they attack and threaten MY parents!_

She began to appreciate and understand now the venomous hatred she had observed in those who had encountered Voldemort's supporters. Her mind went back to the Quidditch World Cup Final last summer. The humiliating torture of those Muggles had been bad enough at the time but this was more personal. _My OWN family!_ But what was she to do? Discussing the violation with anyone could result in her parents' death — that much she knew about the indirect way in which the Unbreakable Vow had been worded. 

No, Hermione Granger was on her own, and if retribution was ever to be exacted upon the Dark Lord's supporters, she would need more knowledge about how to combat them. There was only one source of information she could turn to... books! Not only was Hogwarts' library available to her, but the grand Peverell library too. Professor Moody might help also. She resolved to devote more effort in her Defence Against the Dark Arts classes in future. She glanced at Lily's watch; there was a Defence class later that morning... 

  


The Imperius Curse

After visiting the Headmaster's office, Hermione had an Arithmancy lesson so Harry did not get to speak to her until the Defence class that followed. His eyes lit up with delight as she approached. 

"Hermione! You're still here! How'd it go?" he said, as they queued outside the classroom. They were keeping their voices low because Ron was glancing at them from across the corridor. 

"We decided together that with the Headmaster's protection the risk would be minimal, so I've decided — for the time being — to stay and reconsider nearer the first task. I mean, it's not as if I have to push myself beyond common sense, do I? I don't have to wrestle Acromantulas — I can hide or run around them and let Dumbledore watch my back; he said he would." 

Harry frowned doubtfully. 

Malfoy was lounging against the wall of the passageway with Crabbe and Goyle. He raised his voice. "Hope we get duelling today. Not so easy to cheat at honest duelling — not that pure-bloods would do anything like that." 

"Shut it, Malfoy," snarled Harry. He noticed Ron had moved slightly nearer from his wall. His fist was clenched. Harry took this as a hopeful sign. 

Malfoy opened his mouth to speak but the classroom door opened at that moment and Professor Moody signalled them all in. He stared particularly hard at Hermione as she passed by with Harry. 

Ron was already seated on his own, looking sideways half-over his shoulder with a hopeful look on his face. Hermione gave Harry an apologetic-inquiring look; Harry smiled and nodded, gesturing her forward. But before Hermione could reach the chair beside Ron, Neville had taken it, there being no other empty seats on his side of the classroom. 

Harry and Hermione sank down together onto the nearest positions. "Bad luck," whispered Harry. Hermione bit her lip. 

It was not so easy to chat in Mad-eye's classes; he could literally see backwards with his magical eye and also gave the impression he had acute hearing. But the lesson itself held their attention so strongly, they forgot all about the Tournament problem for the time being. 

"We've previously discussed the nature of the Unforgivable curses but not how to fight them. Nothing can stop the torture and killing curses — best run, dodge, or block the curse with anything to hand — a door, a table... a dead body. 

A flurry of gasps went around the classroom. 

"The Imperius curse, however, can be resisted but it is not easy. A volunteer please?" 

"No one?" Moody's eye swept around the pallid faces. "It might seem harsh but you need to know what you are up against! Finnegan! Get yourself here." 

Seamus walked forward so slowly that Harry thought he would never get there. Moody soon had Seamus crowing like a rooster, then the professor beckoned other students forward one by one. One sang the national anthem while another did bunny hops but nobody was laughing as they waited their turn. 

"Weasley, let's see if we can make a gentleman of you!" 

Ron paled slightly as he stood up and edged cautiously forward. 

"Imperio," Moody murmured as he drew near. "We'll need an assistant as well, let's see... Granger — you can play the part of the lady." 

"Me? But..." 

"No need to be shy, you'll only be acting." He gestured her forward. His magical eye was fearsome enough but Harry thought he saw something menacing in his real eye. 

"But what am I to do?" 

"You will not be under the Imperius Curse. You are free to do as you wish." 

"Would you come with me, Hermione?" said Ron, suddenly. He had a strange, glazed expression on his face and a relaxed smile as if all his nervousness had departed. 

"Ron?" 

"We can sit together now," said Ron, cheerfully. 

He took her hand and placed it on his arm then led her — she in a daze and he in a state of confident assurance — to the far corner of the classroom where a table and two chairs stood beyond a low partition. He took her around to the furthest chair which he pulled out from under the table then invited her to sit down which she did, gazing back in bewilderment at the sea of faces staring at her. 

"Ron, you're not yourself..." 

"On the contrary," smiled Ron, assertively, taking her hand in his, "this is what I am really like. Now I can tell you how I truly feel about—" 

"RON!" Hermione leapt to her feet, knocking over her chair behind her. 

"Enough!" Moody clapped his hands. 

Ron gave a startled cry and his ears flushed crimson as he jumped up in alarm. 

"That was pathetic, Weasley, you made no effort to fight at all! Why didn't you resist?" 

"Because that's what... I mean... I didn't..." He scuttled back to his seat beside Neville. Hermione hurried after him. 

"Not so fast, Granger, you're next." 

Hermione stopped mid-stride. "But...?" 

"Read a lot, don't you?" said Moody. "Well, then, perhaps we can have you _write_ instead!" 

He flung open an exercise book on his desk and pointed his wand at Hermione. 

"Imperio!" 

Hermione struggled, staggered, but soon approached the book, took up a quill and began to write furiously. 

"You'll notice," said Moody, addressing the rest of the class but not taking his eye or his wand off of Hermione, "that it doesn't matter whether the victim is willing or not, or even if they are particularly skilled at the task. Unless they fully resist then they must obey!" 

Hermione continued to scribble, so fast, in fact, that Harry heard her whimpering at the increasing discomfort. As this continued, the rest of the class noticed too and a murmur went around the chamber. 

"STOP! Can't you see you're hurting her!" Harry said, half-rising from his seat. 

Moody whirled around to face the rest of the class and Hermione dropped the quill, stumbled away from the book, and rubbed her wrist as she went back to her seat. Ron cringed away as she passed and refused to look at her. 

"Care to take her place, Potter, since you're already on your feet?" snapped Moody. "Get up here." 

Harry noticed Moody looked quickly through what Hermione had written but he did not read it aloud. He tore out the sheet and vanished it with his wand. "Not exactly the literary classic I was hoping for!" he cried. "Let's see what you can do then, Potter!" 

He glared at Harry and pointed his wand. "Imperio!" 

Harry's annoyance wafted away immediately. He felt great. All his concerns softly misted into the distance. Far off he could hear Moody telling him to write a poem but in his mind Moody had another voice compelling him to drift into the void and unburden himself of all his guilty sensations. It made such wonderful sense to relieve himself of the weight. So much so that he accepted the emptiness, forgot why he was there and what had been requested. He reached blindly for the quill... 

But a third voice in his head was admonishing him in a tone remarkably like Hermione's huffing when he hadn't completed his homework, _Oh, you really should make an effort to fight this if you want to better yourself!_

That voice seemed really foolish. Why resist? It was so pleasant to simply wash along wherever the flow took him... 

He heard the third voice again, her appealing tone this time, _Oh, please try to block it, Harry; I might not always be here to help you._

"Write! NOW!" 

There was immense pain in his hand. Somehow he had picked up the quill but had crushed its point down. Ink flowed. There was blood too. He heard someone shouting for Moody to stop but Harry himself didn't want to stop. He seized another quill and began dragging it across the page, forcing out a jumble of words... his own name... changing the name to another.... "No!" 

Someone had screamed — it might have been Hermione — and Harry sank to his knees exhausted. 

"Now, that's more like it!" growled Moody. 

Harry felt the emptiness in his head dissipate. Immediately his hand exploded with pain and he clutched it, trying to rub away the agonising ache. He had one glimpse of the book before Moody pulled him away. It had only seemed like seconds but he had filled almost two pages with scrawled, near-illegible words and twisted lines of ink. Several broken quills lay scattered across the desk. 

"You see! Potter fought and damn near beat it! Very good, Potter, very good indeed! They'll have trouble controlling you!" 

  


A Helping Hand

"Wait here," Hermione said worriedly, after they returned to the common room. "I'll only be a few minutes." 

She ran upstairs to her dormitory and Harry looked at his inky hand. There wasn't as much blood as he'd thought — just a few scratches where his fingers had somehow gripped the point of one of the quills as if trying to pull it away from the page — but his hand and wrist were on fire and he dare not even flex his fingers because of the considerable discomfort. 

"Why do teachers single you out for the worst, Harry?" said Neville, anxiously. 

"Because he resists," said Dean. He frowned at the inflamed fingers and shook his head. "He went too far, Moody did." 

"He wanted to teach us how to fight it," said Harry. He wondered why he was defending the teacher. Perhaps it was because he thought he had learned a valuable lesson. 

"But—" began Neville, then glanced up at the sounds of footsteps pounding down the girls' staircase. 

Hermione came hurrying along clutching a shallow bowl and what looked like a potions vial. She was gasping for air as if she had run a mile. 

"H- here ... th- this ... will ... help..." She took Harry's wrist, gently turned it over — his clawed fingers made his hand look almost like a part-boiled crab on its back — then lowered it into the bowl. The worried girl shakily poured a yellowish liquid onto it from the bottle and Harry immediately felt a cooling relief. 

"Murtlap solution," said Hermione, tenderly massaging it into his hand and wrist. Soon she was delicately easing the stiffness out of his fingers and his hand began to feel normal again. Harry found it immensely soothing. 

"You keep Murtlap in your bedroom?" He looked at her more closely. "Where's your watch — my Mum's watch I mean?" 

"Well, no, er... sort of. It's erm... I took it off so it didn't get splashed by..." — She couldn't tell him she had rapidly Portkeyed to the Peverell potions room and back — "Uuh... yes, well... erm... I use it as a skin lotion sometimes." 

Harry frowned but said nothing. Hermione had sounded, he thought, like she did when she'd had that headache and gone to bed. He did not like to question her in front of the others. Besides, his hand felt fine now and somehow, he did not want to distract her from the pleasant massage. 

"There — you'll be playing the piano in no time." She smiled and held up his hand like a trophy. 

"Could I have some of that potion too please, Hermione?" said Neville, tentatively. "I always wanted to be able to play a musical instrument..." He tailed off as he saw everyone grinning at him. 

"Well I did..." he added sheepishly. 

  


A Head to Head

It was a few minutes before Harry managed to speak to Hermione alone in a corner of the common room. 

"But you must remember something?" he said. 

"No, I recall being drawn towards Professor Moody's desk. The book looked really attractive. Then... no, it was like being half asleep but trying to wake up. Oh, yes, then something was hurting — really badly." 

"But what did you write?" 

"I'm not sure, Harry, I'm sorry. I only saw it for a few moments afterwards. I think I was simply pouring out my frustration at being in the Tournament. Yes, it felt such a relief to get it off my chest." 

Harry frowned. "I think he might have been trying to find out how you cheated your way into the Tournament." 

"But I don't _know_ how my name got in, do I? And I _didn't_ cheat, Harry!" She glanced around the room then lowered her voice. "I didn't!" 

"I know that, Hermione, but he doesn't, does he? I wonder if Dumbledore put him up to it." 

"No, the Headmaster believes me, I'm almost certain." 

"Then Moody was making his own investigation," growled Harry. He made to slap the table in front of them but then thought better of it. He could see Hermione looking at his hand. 

"It's fine, Hermione." 

She nodded and they sat for a few seconds wondering about Moody's motives. 

"What makes you think Professor Moody was investigating the—?" 

"Because he was trying to get me to write down any guilty things I'd done recently." 

"But that could be anything." 

"I don't think so. I was trying to change a name I think but I couldn't work out how to do it." 

"Whose name, Harry?" 

Harry struggled to remember. "It was my own name, I'm almost sure." 

"Oh, Harry, you always seem to have bad things happen to you no matter what I—" 

"No matter what _you_ what? What have you been doing?" 

"Nothing," she said mournfully. "It's just that I do want the best for you and yet all I've succeeded in doing is make things worse for myself." She paused. 

"Of course!" she cried. 

"Of course, what?" said Harry. 

Hermione stared blankly at him. Her own words echoed in her head, _all I've succeeded in doing is make things worse for myself._ Had the Blessing transferred Harry's bad luck to her as his magical guardian? Could she tell him yet? 

"The other name, Harry, try to remember who it was." 

Harry shook his head then he put his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands, trying to think. 

When he finally looked up, he said, "You think it was you, don't you?" 

She bit her lip and nodded. 

"I can't be sure, he said."You think it's more likely someone would want to kill me but they put your name in by mistake?" 

"No, Harry. I think they put your name in but it got changed to mine. That's what Professor Moody was trying to find out: how you did it." 

"But I didn't!" 

"I know you didn't Harry — I did." 

Harry stared at Hermione, dumbfounded. 

Hermione sighed and decided to tell him half the truth. "It was Merlin's Blessing." 

"You found it! You really found it?" Harry looked astounded. 

She nodded. "I used it to try to help you, Harry. I think that's what changed the name to mine." 

"Well what use is a stupid blessing like that!" cried Harry. "We have to undo it!" 

"But that might restore your name back into the Tournament again. We can't risk—" 

"Then that's what we must do!" cried Harry — rather loudly. 

He did slap the table this time and a few Gryffindors looked across. Harry thought he heard Lavender say "Lovers' tiff" while writing in a notebook she was giggling over with Parvati. He rose angrily to his feet. Hermione pulled him back down. 

"Ignore them, Harry; they'll never know friendship like ours." 

"But... It's because of Ron being an arse," he said. "We're talking more alone together now so... Why can't they accept we're only friends! Just because we're a boy and a girl they always assume—" 

"I know, Harry, but ignore them." 

He grimaced as though a painful memory had just surfaced in his mind. "You don't hear it all, Hermione. They're saying..." He raked his fingers through his hair in frustration. 

"What are they saying, Harry?" 

He hesitated. "Apart from saying you cheated, I heard one of them saying your a... I can't say it Hermione. It's not nice. But like as if you tricked me, played on my feelings so you could get your claws into me." 

Hermione began to smile but then frowned. "Would you rather not see me so much?" 

Harry's eyes practically bulged out on stalks. He stood up and shouted at the astonished onlookers: 

"LISTEN, YOU LOT! HERMIONE IS MY BEST FRIEND! ANYONE WHO THINKS DIFFERENT IS A TOTAL GIT! OH YEAH, AND ANOTHER THING! SHE DIDN'T PUT HER NAME IN THE GOBLET OF FIRE, ALRIGHT?" 

He sank down again. Hermione's cheeks were burning. "Sorry," he muttered, out of the corner of his mouth. 

Hermione was briefly aware that Ron had appeared at the top of the boys' stair — then he disappeared again. 

  


Badge of Honour

Harry's outburst didn't help Hermione one bit. She had become well aware of the feelings of other Hogwarts students as they jostled or cursed her in the passageways; it was not just the Gryffindors who resented her. But she had more important things on her mind. She was now receiving more owls than normal from her parents. That would normally be a cause of rejoicing but they kept asking how she was feeling and whether there had been any developments regarding her safety. Hermione had never troubled them with accounts of the terrifying events that had taken place at Hogwarts over the last three years — trolls ... three-headed dogs ... Petrification ... Dementors — of these she had kept them blissfully ignorant. But the Death Eater who had threatened them had changed all that. 

Whenever she had a rare five minutes not working or worrying, Hermione's thoughts almost always drifted to the plight of her mum and dad and she found herself fuming with bitterness and a longing for revenge. All she had discovered so far was that after the last war, many Death Eaters had produced alibis or claimed they were Imperiused, so they were still walking around freely. How could they be brought to justice with the flawed legal system of the magical community? 

So immersed was she in her several troubles, she walked straight into one of the older students rounding a corner on the seventh floor. 

"Oh, sorry, erm... Diggory." she spluttered, as she recognised who it was. 

He frowned at her. "Can't make your mind up, eh, Granger? I heard what they said. Is it true? You're _not_ backing out now?" 

"I never wanted to be in it in the first place!" said Hermione, curtly. 

"So why'd you enter?" 

"I didn't!" 

His expression made it obvious he wasn't convinced, but he shrugged his shoulders and said, "Look, Granger, some of them are wearing badges — I told them not to, but... anyway, good luck." He strode off leaving Hermione staring after him, wondering what on earth he was talking about. 

She soon found out. The main seventh floor corridor was a long hallway. At the farthest end a group of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were queued waiting to enter a classroom, chattering and noisy. Hermione slowed down, hoping they would have entered by the time she reached them. One of them spotted her — Hermione saw the eyes flash — then they all fell silent. 

There was some sniggering as she drew nearer. It was soon evident that the open doorway was not to a classroom but one of Filch's supply cupboards. Pansy Parkinson was inside selling something from a tray. 

"Want a badge, Granger?" she called, as Hermione approached. Someone stifled a giggle. 

"No thanks," said Hermione, airily, "I doubt there's anything you have to offer that I would want." 

There was a rustling of indignation from the Hufflepuffs as she drew level. 

"Too proud to support the real Hogwarts champion, Granger," said one of them whom Hermione recognised as Ernie Macmillan. He was pointing to his lapel upon which was a badge bearing the message, in luminous green letters that burnt brightly in the dim passage: 

SUPPORT CEDRIC DIGGORY — THE REAL HOGWARTS CHAMPION!

There were peals of laughter from them all. 

"Almost half the school are already wearing them," he added. "You don't want to be the only one left not supporting Cedric, do you?" 

Hermione stuck her nose in the air and said, "Humph!" as she started to walk by. Then she stopped and turned back. 

"Oh, in that case, yes, I will. Cedric is the real champion, not I. How much?" 

Pansy's eyes went very wide and she blinked in disbelief. They all looked astonished. 

"For you, two Sickles," said Pansy with a smirk, pressing it hard onto Hermione's robe and muttering something under her breath. 

As Hermione proceeded on her way with the new badge proudly displayed upon her lapel, Hermione felt she had made her point. With her viewpoint clearly displayed for all to see, no one could accuse her of trying to steal the limelight from Cedric Diggory. 

There were a few giggles erupting behind and Pansy guffawed so much she almost choked; Hermione was determined to try to block out everything around her. But in her Arithmancy class, so many students, and even the teacher, were staring at her that she could not concentrate, and she was glad to escape their attention the moment the end-of-class bell rang. 

But unrestrained laughter followed. A small mob were hounding her, grinning like a pack of hyenas following a wounded antelope. 

_What are they waiting for? Do they think my head is going to rotate or something?_

She quickened her pace; the taunters did likewise, growing in size at every intersection. Hermione, struggling within herself to stay calm, finally panicked and ran for the nearest bathroom. She slammed the door, cast a locking charm then leaned back upon it, hot-faced and gasping for air. There was banging and kicking on the door, and shouting for a short while but the rabble gradually dispersed to their next lessons. 

Splashing water on her face, she looked up at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was dishevelled and her cheeks were streaked where she had rubbed away tears before they became an additional target for her humiliation. _Had their contempt always been there, waiting to surface?_

The answer was flashing in red letters on her chest: 

GRANGER'S NAME IS MUD—!

A long keening whimper escaped her lips at the injustice of the offence. An individual insult she could weather, but if Ernie was telling the truth, soon most of the school would be expressing their contempt for her visibly wherever she went. It was too much. A chilling sense of isolation overpowered her; somehow she had to escape. 

Tugging at the badge failed to dislodge it and whatever spell had changed the message had fixed it to her clothing with a binding spell so powerful that it would have to be cut off this evening when she had a chance to change her robes. Parkinson wasn't smart enough for such advanced magic — this was more like Draco's handiwork. With a sinking feeling she resigned herself to the inevitable: they had won and Hermione Granger was not welcome at Hogwarts. If it were not for the threat against her parents she would leave immediately, but she was trapped. 

"There's no way out," she murmured despairingly as she headed towards the door, preparing to face the rest of the day. 

"You should have thought of that before putting your name in the Goblet of Fire," sniggered the mirror behind her. 

Its glass shattered into hundreds of shards which showered noisily down into the handbasins and onto the cold, tiled floor. Hermione's eyes flared with anger as she put away her smoking wand; rage was the only emotion left to her that could smother the pain... for a while.  


—oOo— 

  
  
  


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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Still with me? Good. But if you're confused, just keep reading._   
>  _Comments and Kudos are most welcome and encourage authors to try harder! So drive those slave writers! Faster! Faster!_   
>  _If you're an Hermione fan and you like comics then check out my one-page wonder, entirely graphic experiment parodying the end of Philosopher's (Sorceror's) Stone._


	6. Doing One's Duty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _So far... Hermione Portkeyed to the Peverell Retreat in search of Merlin's Blessing but then her name replaced Harry's in the Goblet of Fire. The other students' resentment that she cheated has now intensified. Ron is still alienated, but under the Imperius Curse in Moody's class, there were signs he still cared for Hermione. Now read on..._

* * *

  


  


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**Chapter 6**

**Doing One's Duty**

  
  
  


Luna Lovegood 

While the first weeks of November were being swept away by foul weather, Hermione found herself constantly in a dark place, dwelling either upon the contempt and vague threats she faced every day, or her parents' safety and vulnerability, or else on what the first task of the Tournament might be — all three depressed and frightened her. She spent as much time as possible with Harry, Ginny, and Neville, and even sought out the Ravenclaw girl who had approached her in the Great Hall — the only four children who had openly declared their belief in her. 

"Join you and your friends?" the girl had blinked over a copy of the Quibbler when first asked. 

"Yes, during break in the courtyard," said Hermione. "I've often seen you standing alone. You're Luna Lovegood aren't you? I thought you might want company; people say you're..." 

"Would they mind, do you think?" She lowered her magazine and fixed her large eyes upon Harry, Neville, and Ginny. "Only, some people think I'm a bit odd, you know." 

"I asked... uuh, no, I told them I was going to ask you. Ginny knows you. They won't... they'll be delighted if you..." 

"They don't look very delighted, do they? What about Ron Weasley? Doesn't he like you anymore? I've seen him moping and squinting a look at you. Look, there he is — only he stopped when I pointed him out. He can be very unkind sometimes, I've noticed." 

"Erm... yes, no, that is... so... um... friends?" By now, Hermione was half-hoping she might say no. 

"Me? You want me to be your friend?" Luna stared at her, unblinking this time. 

"Yes. Of course, if you don't want to..." Hermione crossed her fingers behind her back. 

"I'd love to be friends, yes. That's really nice of you to ask." 

As they walked across the yard, she added, "Do you expect you'll die in the Tournament? They say that a lot in my common room. I hope you don't." 

"Ooh... well, thanks, Luna." 

As they approached, Ginny grinned and waved five wide fingers. "Hi, Luna." 

Harry smiled doubtfully and Neville fiddled nervously with his bag, but soon they were all chatting again. Hermione wondered how nice this friendly gathering would have been if she and her parents were not under threat of death, and if she had not become the object of school hatred. How pleasant life could have been just standing around in this breezy courtyard with the comfort of agreeable company and without the sickening chill fear that seemed to constantly weigh down her stomach like a stone. 

Ginny said, "Luna, you must come to Hogsmeade with Neville and me on Saturday — unless you already have plans?" 

Harry gawped at Ginny. Hermione stared at Harry's reaction. Luna watched a cloud passing overhead. "Alright then. Can Harry come too?" When she lowered her gaze she was smiling at Harry. 

Hermione groaned inwardly and shook her head. _Luna partnering Harry with Neville partnering Ginny? But he wants Ginny — doesn't he?_ She felt as if her head was spinning with confusion. 

"Hermione?" said Harry. "How about you?" 

"Oh, er... I was going to try to talk to Ron again about going to Swiggens, he did ask me, after all. He was looking rather miserable this morning so maybe he'll come round in time?" 

Ginny growled, "The prat was scowling at you, Hermione." 

"Was he? I thought he looked regretful...." 

"Hermione, you're seeing him how you hope he is not how he really is! Believe me, I know him better than you, he's my brother for Merlin's sake! You're trying to overlook his faults because you fancy him. That's not a very practical way to find your perfect partner" 

Hermione flushed. "Ridiculous! How else can you choose someone unless you fall for them!" 

"Love is blind," Luna said rather vaguely, then added, "That plumptious, giggly, flirty girl talks to him sometimes, doesn't she? Perhaps he'll go with her instead." 

"Lavender Brown?" frowned Ginny, visualising the girl laughing hysterically over Christmas cracker jokes at The Burrow. "No way!" 

  


The Remorseful Prat

Hermione had been right about Ron. The approach of a Hogsmeade weekend had reminded him how much he was missing Hermione. Lavender Brown had hinted to him only that morning that she was willing to go with him — "You're welcome to come with us three, Ron, especially since Parvati and Padma might not be able to make it then I'd be stuck on my own" — but he'd put her off by saying he wasn't sure yet and he'd get back to her. 

Regrets tugged at him daily but the nerve to apologise was not so quick to show up. He stared gloomily out the common room window at the night sky late Friday night and realised he had put it off too long. 

Ginny punched his arm. "Well, did you say yes?" 

"What?" growled Ron, only half-turning his head. 

"Hermione... after dinner, when she asked— Oh, Merlin!" Ginny clamped a hand over her mouth. 

"We've not spoken. We were caught up together in the crowd going out the door, is all." 

"And you didn't say anything to her!" snapped Ginny. 

"What d'you mean, 'when she asked'?" Ron grabbed his sister by the arm but she pulled away. "Was she going to ask me about tomorrow? She was, wasn't she!" 

Ginny's eyes flared but before she could deny it, Ron blurted out, "Tell her yes! Tell her I'll meet her at the gate at nine-thirty!" He looked at his watch. It was gone midnight. "Better make that ten. Tell her I'm sorry, really, really—!" 

"Tell her yourself, you silly git!" 

"Ginny, please! She's already gone up to bed. I left it too late. I lost my nerve." 

"You are such a stupid..." 

"Will you tell her? I swear on my life I'll never—" 

"Alright, alright, I don't want to hear it. I'll tell her you've realised you're the world's stupidest prat and will meet her at the gate at ten." 

Ginny stalked off muttering something about Ron had better practise his grovelling. 

  


The Fragrant Trail

It was cold the next morning but Hermione was soaking in a luxurious hot tub suffused with Lily's petal essence, lazily anticipating the day ahead. Ginny's message had lifted her spirits. Saturday! Hogsmeade! For once she could keep a little more distance from the jibes and stares of the other students, try to forget her troubles and have some personal time. It seemed that Ron had finally got over his anger and would be honouring their first date after all! 

She could forgive him if he didn't want to be seen with her in the common room. Meeting her later in the morning at the gate after almost everyone else had departed would save him the embarrassment of the inquisitive glares and pointing fingers that would undoubtedly come his way for 'consorting with the enemy'. Hermione snorted and dozens of coloured bubbles drifted into the air, giggling as they popped and making Hermione laugh for the first time in weeks. 

Her skin was glowing when she stepped out and rubbed herself briskly down with a big white fluffy towel. Extra care was taken before the dressing table although her hair still put up a fight as she raked her brush through its tangles. At least the mirror did not insult her for once — perhaps it had heard of the fate of the one in the fourth floor bathroom. She smirked into it, then grimaced as her overlarge teeth spoilt the effect. 

The common room was almost empty except for a few first and second years who kept out of her way. Harry and her other friends, she knew would have left soon after breakfast. She, herself, would have a romantic feast at Swiggens! 

Filch was at the gate when she approached. "Can't you guttersnipes ever make up your mind!" he scowled. 

The man gave her a creepy lop-sided sneer so she placed herself on the other side of the drive to wait. She had expected Ron to be already here but Lily's watch told her she was ten minutes early. She checked her beaded bag; had she forgotten anything? _Calm yourself, Hermione, it's only Ron you'll be meeting!_ She kept her gaze in the direction of the school and pretended Filch wasn't eyeing her. 

Ten o'clock came and went. Filch continued to leer at her from time to time. Her inner glow was cooling off in the November air and a cold, empty feeling was nagging way down in her stomach — though It wasn't because she hadn't eaten yet. Had Ron got the time wrong and gone ahead without her? 

"Hermione!" 

She whirled around. It was Harry and Luna running up the road from Hogsmeade, waving and panting. The time was ten-fifteen. 

"Where's Ginny?" Hermione called as they drew near. 

"Erh... sh' ... wa'..." gasped Harry, "bashing ... brother with ... handbag ... when we left..." 

"I KNEW it!" cried Hermione. "He forgot the time and went early!" 

"Erm..." 

"He's with — mmmpphh!" Luna suddenly found Harry's hand clamped over her mouth. 

Harry talked loudly over her muffled cries, "He was with... Ginny but he's... he's scared to face you! Yeah, that's it." He took a few seconds to get his breath back. "So... look, why don't you come with us four instead? Neville's keeping a place for us all in the Three Broomsticks." 

"Mmmpphh!" said Luna. 

Harry released her and they all set off at a good pace. Hermione shivered as an ominous chill went up her spine. 

"Phew! I'm so hot with running!" said Harry, pulling off his travel cloak. Luna looked as if she were about to speak so Harry, unable to gag her again while he was folding the cloak over his arm, quickly cried out, somewhat hopefully, "Why not try one of your gobstoppers, Luna!" 

Luna dug into her pockets and found a packet of Ticklish Allsorts. "Here, take these, Hermione. The Chimblies will warm you up. Give Harry a Coconut Snowball — it'll cool him down. The Sand Widges are a bit gritty but they fill you up, and the Sprinklies will sparkle you up — but avoid the Not-Notice Nougat and the Goggle Gums — they make you goggle at absolutely everyone for ages. I gave that nice Mr Filch one on the way out." 

"Erm... Thanks, Luna." 

"Say, Hermione, why don't you put my cloak over your shoulders while we walk down?" said Harry, trying to act as if he'd just discovered a spare cloak over his arm. 

He swirled it around her then drew in a deep breath of air as they resumed their march. "Hmm..." 

"What?" Hermione patted her hair in case the cloak had messed it up. 

"Nothing. Everything's fine." 

"Harry wanted to tell you that — mmmpphh!" Luna was prepared this time and nipped Harry's hand with her teeth so he pulled it away with a yelp. Her eyes chided him as she spoke to Hermione. "I was only going to say Harry likes your fragrance and so do I." 

"Oh, yeah, right," said Harry. "Reminds me of when I was little — Aunt Petunia, I suppose... mmm... but more like a horse — face like one too." 

"I look and smell like a horse to you?" Hermione tried to keep her lips around her teeth while she talked and finished up mumbling. 

"No, I meant—" 

There was a dreamy look on Luna's face. "It's a little like Ginny's scent only more restrained and gentle yet intensely feminine and softly captivating. ... _Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these._ " 

"What? What did you say?" said Hermione, looking startled. 

"Lilium, I'm sure, but which sort, I cannot tell." 

Hermione had no opportunity to enquire further because they had reached the turning into the village and Harry had, without warning, jumped in front of her and stopped. 

"What's wrong?" 

"Erm... Oh, look at that tree, isn't it nice?" said Harry, grabbing Hermione's arm and turning her. 

"Harry, it's almost December — it's lost all its leaves, and it's—" 

"I hate it when they pollard little trees like that, don't you?" piped up Luna. "Reminds me of amputated babies." 

"LUNA!" 

"Well it does!" scowled Luna. "How would you like to have your branches lopped off?" 

"Still, uuh... interesting though, don't you reckon?" Harry was glancing over his shoulder as he spoke. "Come on, no use hanging about here all day looking at trees is there?" 

"But it was you that—" began Hermione. 

"Look, there's the Three Broomsticks. We can be inside in the warm if we hurry. Let's run to keep warm!" 

"But you said you were hot! ... Harry, you're jostling me! What's the rush?" said Hermione. 

She came to an abrupt halt. Harry released her arm and turned to follow her line of sight. Far in the distance, Ron had emerged from Honeydukes, staggering with armfuls of confectionery, and was headed for Swiggen-Browse. 

Hermione frowned. "Is that Ginny with him?" 

"Um... probably," said Harry. "Come on—" 

"No, it's Lavender Brown," said Luna. "We saw them before, don't you remember, Harry?" 

The skyline seemed to slowly spin for poor Hermione. Her voice was very faint. "He's... taking her to... on _our_ on _my_ date...? How could he? How could he do that to me?" 

"Hermione..." began Harry, but she was gone. He ran around in a circle staring down into murky side streets and alleys on either side. 

"Not-Notice Nougat, I think," said Luna vaguely. "I don't think she wants to be seen for a while." 

He stared down the main street. "She's upset..." 

Luna came and stood beside him. "Perhaps you could follow her perfume; it lingers, haven't you noticed?" 

Harry stared at Luna for a few brief seconds then ran back and forth, sniffing the air, before shouting his thanks back to Luna then taking off down the road in the direction of Swiggens. 

  


The Runaway

Hermione ran and ran, not caring where she went so long as she could get away from the hurtful feeling inside. To the farthest edge of the village she ran, faster and faster, wondering how she might go further and faster away from the madness. If only there was a— 

On a sudden impulse she swerved to the side of the road, spat out the nougat then held her wand resolutely out. There was a deafening BANG accompanied by a screech of brakes as a large vehicle heaved into place beside her. 

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this—" 

Hermione didn't wait to hear the rest. She pushed past him onto the bus, found a comfy armchair just inside to sink down onto, then burst into tears. 

"Oh dear, oh dear, looks like we got us a runaway, Ern — that'll be an extra two Sickles o' course, 'cos o' the Min'stry surtax wot makes it firteen." He held out his hand and Hermione, groping in her bag through watery eyes, gave him a Galleon. 

" 'choo got nuffink smaller?" 

"Keep the change," mumbled Hermione, her head down. 

"Yoo 'ear that, Ern? 'Keep the change,' she sez. Like as if we could! 'ere, I know, have a bowl o' Wheat-wochers and I'll frow in a slosh o' milk fer free? Howzat?" 

"Only don' frow it too far this time, eh, Stan?" said Ernie, crunching into first gear. 

"Take 'er away, Ern." 

"But you don't know where I—" protested Hermione. 

"Don't know? Don't know?" said an astonished Stan. "Tell 'er, Ern." 

"Next town. Us always takes run'ways to the nearest city, town, or village wot is large enough to lose 'emselves in 'n be forgot forever." 

There was another BANG and a jolt, and a slosh, and Hermione found herself alighting in a street busy with Saturday morning shoppers oblivious to the bus as it sped away — although many stared at her strange attire. 

_Muggles!_ She pulled off Harry's travel cloak and her own, stuffed them into her magical bag, then stood shivering in a small jacket and jeans as the throng pushed disinterestedly by. 

Never had she felt so alone in a crowd as she did right then. It was unbearable, unthinkable, to go back and face the animosity at Hogwarts, the cruel deception of Ron, and the worry about the the first task of the Tournament next week — yet what was she to do here? In her bag were a sufficiency of Galleons but only a few pounds of Muggle money. Where was she to stay? Where indeed _was_ she anyway? 

A nearby newspaper shop provided the answer as well as a few snack bars and cans of Coke with _The Inverness Courier._ Might she afford bed and breakfast accommodation for a few days? She searched the pages for classified adverts. Somewhere out of the way where she would not be noticed was what was needed... 

_'Councillor denies allegations.' 'Outraged shoplifter's pockets picked by burglar.' 'Arson unlikely in derelict house.' 'Future of Inverness Castle debate — latest.'_

_Derelict building?_ Hermione stared at the photo of a fire-gutted building with its police tape warning signs. Had she not passed that street? She retraced her steps to the corner and looked down the road. There it was: a blackened ruin halfway along on the right, and still damp from its dousing by the fire service, but part of the roof looked intact. The news article had declared it previously unoccupied. Perhaps a stray firework from November the fifth* had sparked the fire? — but that was weeks ago and this blaze was only last night. 

Whatever the cause, the place was surely dangerous and uninhabitable except maybe to a tramp. Hermione turned away, struggling with her thoughts. After all, she _was_ a tramp now. The other side of her mind — the side that usually spoke in Harry's voice — gently chided her: _Hermione, you're a witch!_ She stopped and looked back. _Yes, an underage witch who daren't use any magic, and soon would not have any to use!_

As she approached for a second look, a cold shiver made the decision for her. First glancing guiltily up and down the street, she ducked under the fluttering red barrier tape and pushed through the broken doorway. 

Fallen joists and old burnt-out furniture cluttered the rooms making movement difficult. The kitchen was a scene of devastation — the gas cooker ruptured and twisted on its side, table and chairs in splinters, windows blown out. Muddy bootprints marked where firemen had hacked rapidly through the rooms, searching for anyone needing rescue. The sooted windows did little to relieve the gloom. It would make a miserable shelter, she thought, but beggars can't be choosers. 

A large sofa, scorched and dirty, seemed otherwise intact but was toppled and pinned against a wall by a heavy beam fallen across it from above. How easy it would have been to hover the timber away if responsible youngsters were allowed to use magic, she grumbled to herself. With an effort she managed to jostle the beam free. Once it had slid down with an alarming crash to the floor, she turned the settee upright. It was reasonably comfortable but damp from the hoses — easily fixed with a drying charm if she had been allowed magic. 

Previously concealed behind this sofa was another door worth investigating — it led down to a basement scarcely touched by the fire. There were indications that squatters had dragged a couple of the best chairs down here in the past. An old sleeping bag was still rucked up in a corner and graffiti covered part of one wall. The only illumination came from a grimy fanlight, high up in an alcove, letting in the grey day from the yard. Hermione found a box of matches and a few candles which she lit then staggered back in astonishment. 

On the floor below the fanlight, a young girl with badly-scorched clothing lay sideways down and knees up within the recess, as motionless as a discarded shop window dummy. She held a scarf to her mouth with one hand. The other arm, severely burnt, was still reaching up and clutching the handle of a narrow yard door which Hermione now perceived — colourless against the drab wall. 

It wasn't difficult to gather what must have happened. When the house had fallen into disuse, the gas supply could not have been properly disconnected. This squatter, having made her home here, must have inadvertently turned on the gas tap to the oven upstairs while preparing a meal on the hob, then dashed down here to escape the resulting flames — only to die from smoke inhalation shortly after. 

Sinking down onto a seat, Hermione wondered what to do. She could not stay here and the accident had to be reported. She forced herself once more to look across at the body. The girl, no older than Hermione, had been almost pretty; her long dark hair framed a white face relaxed now in death. At least she appeared released from whatever misery had driven her from home. 

The parallels with her own life made Hermione distinctly uncomfortable and she shifted uneasily in the chair. Something slipped and pressed hard against her bottom; it was a book — a diary by the looks of it. Hermione stared, unwilling yet compelled to open it. 

For the next hour she learned that the girl, whose name was Kayley, had been brutalised by a single, uncaring step-parent, then taken in by social services at an early age where she learned the true meaning of isolation within a hostile confinement. This had been her fifth attempt to escape. 

As the details of the girl's life of suffering emerged, Hermione sniffled miserably and went over to the corpse — compassion driving away her natural fear of it. Gently she took Kayley's hand and eased away the scarf from her mouth. The girl wore no makeup but the lips remained naturally red; the beautiful, long blue-black tresses were dusty with ash; the eyes, silvery-grey — displaying an empty, defeated look — were still staring at a dead woodlouse in a crack in the skirting board. Had their two insignificant lives ended together? 

A feeling of shame arose within Hermione. So what, that her own family had been threatened — at least she _had_ two loving parents who needed her. What did it matter if hundreds of Hogwarts students maligned her unjustly? — she had Harry and three other friends. Why concern herself over Ron? — she might truly fall in love one day. And what of the first Tournament task next week? — perhaps she might survive after all. She would have a fighting chance; was that not better than dying pointlessly with only a writhing, choking insect and a locked door for company? 

  


Deathly Embrace

It was still mid-afternoon when Hermione alighted from the Knight Bus on the far fringes of Hogsmeade then walked up the lane. A lonely figure sat shivering on an old wooden stile, staring at the ground. Never was a friend more welcome; never did Hermione feel more emotional. She flung her arms around Harry before he even knew she was there, almost knocking him off the stile. 

"Hermione! I was hoping you'd come back!" gasped Harry once he'd got his breath back. "Tracked you here then from the skid marks I figured you'd boarded the Knight Bus." 

"How? I used — oh, you're freezing! Here's your travel cloak back, sorry!" She dragged it out of her bag and handed it over. 

"Luna's idea — your fragrance." Harry swirled the cloak around his shoulders and they set off, arms around each others shoulders for warmth and companionship, along the road into Hogsmeade. 

"You followed my scent all through Hogsmeade?" 

"Erm... yes, well... It's cold but there's not really any wind, and I'd know that perfume anywhere, wouldn't I?" 

"How, Harry? It's just a bath oil. I've never used it before." 

"Sure you have, loads of times... haven't you?" 

Hermione shook her head. She wished she could tell him it had been his mother's fragrance she had created. Instead she said, "Perhaps your Aunt Petunia _did_ wear it years ago, after all." 

"Maybe, but—" 

"INCARCEROUS!" 

So close where they huddled that the one binding spell snaked instantly around the both of them, swaddling them tightly together as if trapped inside a shrinking rubber tube. Unable to balance, Hermione toppled over on top of Harry, both struggling for air. 

"WE'VE GOT THEM!" thundered a voice. 

Harry couldn't see properly because half his face was buried within Hermione's hair. 

"Harry! ... Breathe in ... when ... I breathe out ... then I'll—" 

She sucked in air as Harry blew thick bushy hair away from one of his eyes. 

"Release them! That spell isn't intended for two captives! You're squeezing them together like sardines!" 

"Help uuuuhhhssss!" gasped Hermione, trying to see sideways who had called out. She had only a glimpse of pink bubblegum hair then Harry was vainly wriggling to free himself from under her. 

"Not till Fudge gets here, Tonks," said the first voice. "Get their wands!" 

"How?" said Tonks, fiddling around their pockets which were crushed or stretched so tightly she could not get even one finger inside. 

"Wass ... going ... on?" Harry wheezed out faintly while Hermione drew in air. 

"You're in trouble, that's what. Where's your wand?" 

"We gathered that for ourselves," croaked Hermione as Harry took in his next breath. 

"Back pocket," whispered Harry, almost inaudibly. Hermione took a big gulp of air as he did so. 

Tonks rolled them over. 

One of Hermione's eyes glared directly into one of Harry's. "Your _hand_ , Harry!" 

He tried to twist. The truth was he couldn't tell if his grip was clenched or where. "It's gone numb. Can't... feel... anything..." Darkness swam across his vision. 

"He's passing out, Dawlish!" cried Tonks. "Either release them or I will!" 

There was the sound of footsteps hurriedly approaching. Hermione tried to squint past Harry's face but his lips were pressed against her cheek and his nose was almost in her eye. He didn't seem to be breathing. 

" _Love—lee..._ " said a female voice. "Adrian, soft focus please ... make sure that hand is in shot ... it's for tomorrow's Sunday edition, remember ... lovely ... Miss Granger, jilted fiancé, jealous murderer, and fugitive from justice, how does it feel to be caught red-handed and in such a... compromising position with your secret lover-accomplice? ... _Miss Granger's eyes grew large and tearful with emotion as she struggled to express her heartfelt desolation that_ " — the scratching of the woman's quill ceased as more footsteps stampeded up to them. 

"By Merlin, Dawlish, you've caught them in the act! Well done! This is the final proof we need of their complicity! These vile assassins will be in Azkaban by Tuesday or my name's not Cornelius Fudge!" 

  


Conflicting Magic

"Where are we?" groaned Harry, trying to rub away a dull headache and sit up at the same time. 

"A room in the Hog's Head inn I think," said Hermione from nearby, "and Harry..." — she mouthed the rest — "I think they have cast a listening charm." 

He winced as he gazed about: grey timber walls, tiny windows cramped between beams, a swinging lantern to supplement the waining daylight. He was atop a thickly-blanketed bed; Hermione was sat on a chair at the side, holding his hand. He looked at her. 

"Oh... right..." she said, releasing his hand, "I was worried about you. That witch with pink hair released you or you'd have..." 

"Snuffed it — except I couldn't draw enough air to snuff anything!" He sounded bitter but the memory of several precious inhalations of deep fragrance seemed to have clouded his mind. 

"Dumbledore's here," said Hermione, "McGonagall too. I heard their voices." 

"What's happened do you think? Have they got us mixed up with someone else?" 

Hermione bit her lip. "Don't think about it, Harry." 

Her face told him that's what she had been struggling to do for the past... he looked at his watch; almost an hour had passed since Hermione had embraced him on the stile. Evening was approaching — so were footsteps. 

The door was flung open. The Auror called Dawlish entered, wand drawn — Harry's hand instantly went to his own back pocket and found it empty — followed by a grey-haired, portly man whom Harry recognised as the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge. 

"Well, well, well... you've kept us waiting long enough, young man!" 

"It wasn't my—" 

"How are you, Harry?" Dumbledore was pushing through the doorway with McGonagall close behind. 

"I'm fine," said Harry, instinctively rubbing his head again. Immediately his headache seemed to disappear and for a moment Harry thought the concern in the Headmaster's eyes was replaced by a twinkle. 

"Enough of this," said the Minister, brusquely. "Hermione Jean Granger and Harry James Potter you are hereby charged with conspiring to murder Miss Lavender Brown and Mr Ronald Weasley during their—" 

Hermione screamed. 

"Minister, please!" cried McGonagall. "They are not dead yet!" She looked directly at Hermione. "Mr Weasley is in bed at St. Mungo's with Miss Brown. They are—" 

"WHAT! What did you say!" 

McGonagall sighed. "Mr Weasley is with his family in the Magical Conflicts ward while Miss Brown is in the investigation section for victims of Dark Curses. Their condition is very serious." 

"Thank you, Minerva," huffed the Minister, "I'll handle this. Miss Granger, do you deny you cursed Miss Brown in a fit of jealous rage in the book-and-tea shop earlier today?" 

Hermione's eyes widened and she could not speak for a few moments. "Of course I do!" she eventually managed to bluster. "I wasn't even in Swiggens!" 

"Aha!" he said mysteriously, "I don't think I mentioned Swiggens by name. How then did you know the scene of the crime unless you were there?" 

"Because Swiggens is the ONLY book-and-tea shop in Hogsmeade, and I have NEVER yet been inside! I saw Ron take that bimbo in this morning but I quickly left to go to—" 

"Ah! So you admit you witnessed the victims together then ran off? Yes, we wondered about your disappearance immediately after the crime, and Mr Potter," — he rounded on Harry — "you were seen running away from the scene and later discovered making love to Miss Granger in a secluded lane off the beaten track. Do you deny it?" 

Harry exploded. "We were ensnared together by a binding curse from that... _person_ there!" he bellowed, pointing at Dawlish. "He nearly killed us!" 

"A clever ruse to explain away the obvious position in which you were caught but everyone knows the binding curse works only on a single person." 

"Exactly!" thundered Harry. 

But Fudge swept on as if Harry had agreed with his version of events, "And do you deny you met Miss Granger just after nine to plan your attack?" 

"That's impossible," said Hermione. "I didn't leave Hogwarts until after ten." 

"No? Mr Filch says differently. He saw you sneak out earlier with your broomstick and return." 

"He's mistaken someone else for me then because everyone knows I don't have a broomstick and I'm afraid of flying! I never went out until after ten." 

"Can you prove that? Have you an alibi? Where were you between nine and nine-thirty?" 

Hermione paused to think. "In the bath — so I couldn't have—" 

"Was anyone with you who can verify—?" His eyes switched accusingly towards Harry. 

"Of course not!" shrieked Hermione. 

"Minister, if I may..." Dumbledore's voice calmed Hermione somewhat. "Have their wands been checked?" 

"Yes, I checked them myself," snapped Fudge. 

"And...?" 

"Nothing, but it's a simple matter to use someone else's wand." 

"But to cast an advanced dark curse such as the one that almost killed Miss Brown is not easy even for a master wizard if he does not use his own wand, wouldn't you agree?" 

"Yes, but..." 

"And the wounds suggest great power and fury but no direct attempt to murder do they not? — the signs of frustration not revenge?" 

"What's your point, Dumbledore?" 

"And Mr Weasley, he was found convulsing on the floor of Swiggen-Browse, a victim of the powerful conflict between an Imperious Curse and a love potion? Why would Miss Granger try to cause Mr Weasley to become infatuated with Miss Brown and further, cast an unnecessary Imperious Curse to achieve much the same end? And why was there conflict if both were intended to work together?" 

Hermione's mouth gaped wide in astonishment. 

"How should I know the immature workings of adolescent minds?" spluttered Fudge. 

"Come now, Minister, you were young yourself once. Is it not obvious that it was Miss Brown herself that arranged for Mr Weasley to imbibe the love potion, whereas the Imperious Curse was cast by an unknown assailant and intended to lead to the death or abduction of someone quite different — someone who was expected to be there in Miss Brown's stead." 

"Who?" 

Dumbledore paused. "Miss Granger." 

"WHAT! Dumbledore, you cannot expect—" 

"There has already been one attempt on her life: someone — a powerful dark wizard it must have been to deceive the Goblet of Fire — forced her to participate in an extremely dangerous contest." McGonagall gasped but the Headmaster continued, "Perhaps fearing her withdrawal from the Tournament, the villain decided to use another opportunity to complete his purpose — only to be confounded by Miss Brown's own potion. Instead of Miss Granger, he — or she — discovered he had taken away the wrong girl. Miss Brown may have saved Miss Granger's life by her foolish action." 

"Taken away? 'Abducted,' you said?" frowned Harry. "Why didn't he curse her there? Who would want to—" He looked at Hermione in horror. 

McGonagall explained. "Miss Brown was Apparated away to a field just outside Hogsmeade where she was later found, half-dead, by a search party." 

"But... but... I'm a fourth year!" cried Hermione. "I have no idea how to Apparate! That proves it could not have been me!" 

"We do not know for certain that Apparition was involved, Minerva," sneered Fudge. 

Dumbledore said, "Yet the couple were seated in the farthest, most secluded corner of the teashop from which anyone would have been easily seen had he tried to force Miss Brown past the other customers to the front door. As indeed they all were certainly witness to Mr Weasley's struggles on the way in." 

"Struggles?" said Hermione. 

The Headmaster thought for a moment before answering. "Mr Weasley was confused and driven by a strong love potion but it is likely the Imperious Curse was trying to direct him to a different target — you. Mr Weasley put up quite a fight against the two unnatural magical compulsions. He was mumbling and staggering as he led Miss Brown back and forth through the book stands before finally partly yielding to the Imperious Curse by persuading her to take up a seat with him in the corner where they could not be easily observed." 

"Poor Ron..." murmured Hermione, clamping her hands over her flaming cheeks and staring at Harry's expression for any sign of disapproval. "Poor Ron..." 

"You weren't to know, Hermione," he said. "You couldn't have known it wasn't Ron's fault. I condemned him too." 

  


Scandal Sheet

The next morning, both Ron and Lavender were still suffering the severe effects of the dark curses that had been used against them but were recovering. All charges against Harry and Hermione had been dropped so McGonagall had given them permission to visit Ron at St. Mungo's. 

"No more than thirty minutes!" chided the ward manager, "he's still very weak." 

He pointed to a bed halfway down on the left where Ron's pale face was staring at the ceiling. 

"Er... Hi! ... hello." said Harry and Hermione, discordantly. 

"Ah..." 

"So... uuh.." 

The entire meeting was awkward and strained; all three of them were glad when it came to an end, but at least there was no longer any antagonism. 

Hermione received a glare from Mr and Mrs Brown in the foyer on the way out, as if it _was_ her fault that Lavender had been injured. The reason was clear to see. Lying on one of the seats in the waiting area was a copy of the morning's Sunday Prophet shouting the headlines: 

CALLOUS LOVERS  
CAUGHT IN THE ACT  
WHILE VICTIMS DIE!  
by Rita Skeeter 

Shocked, they sat down together and began to read: 

_It takes a lot to disturb this seasoned reporter but to directly witness the sordid embrace of two would-be killers writhing breathlessly in the filth of a lonely alley so soon after their brutal attacks has shaken her to the magical core._

"How dare she!" snapped Hermione. "She knew we..." Hermione's anger trailed off into incredulity. In fine print in the Stop Press column on the back page were the words: 

_Potter-Granger case dismissed on a technicality._

"They all knew!" she spluttered. "They knew before they published but they went ahead anyway! _Technicality!_ They know the tests on Ron proved it could not have been me and Stan Shunpike and my ticket testify that I was on the Knight Bus at the time of the attack — and you weren't even involved! Oh, Harry... they've made out you're some kind of evil Casanova!" 

Red-faced, Harry had sunk lower in his seat and, with an outstretched arm, had tried to obscure the headline from a nearby out-patient with two nose-bleeds who was looking their way between dabs of his handkerchiefs. 

"They'll play down the dismissal in Monday's Prophet too, or not mention it at all," moaned Hermione. "Unless the real attacker is found, we'll never hear the last of this." 

"Let's get out of here," whispered Harry. 

But there could be no relief back at Hogwarts. Over the next few days as the first task approached, both of them were the butt of insults. Hermione was being called a slag and worse, while the compromising photograph from the Prophet was pushed in their faces at every opportunity, and even appeared enlarged on many a noticeboard. 

Only Harry kept Hermione from total despair — he and her other friends: Ginny, Neville, and Luna. But even Harry wasn't there for her on the eve of the first task. 

"Hagrid wanted to see him," explained Ginny, in a he's-not-to-blame kind of way. 

Hermione bit her lip. She had been hoping Harry would be with her in one last search of the library for spells that might help her in the morning. She sighed; they had already exhausted themselves in that endeavour so she had no expectations — no it was his company she needed. 

"I'm having an early night then," she said. "So I'm fresh when I get up tomorrow." 

"It's only eight o'clock, Hermione!" said Ginny. "Are you sure you don't want to wait up for his return?" 

Hermione shook her head. "Goodnight, Ginny." 

"Night, Hermione," said Ginny. She watched sorrowfully as Hermione trudged up the stairs. She did not envy one bit the fate that awaited her friend on the morrow.  


—oOo— 

  
  
  


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	7. More Haste, Less Speed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _So far... Hermione Portkeyed to the Peverell Retreat in search of Merlin's Blessing but then her name replaced Harry's in the Goblet of Fire. On the way to her first date with Ron in Hogsmeade, she sees him with Lavender Brown instead. Broken-hearted, she runs away, but after finding the body of another runaway who suffered much more than herself, she is shamed into returning, only to discover that Ron had been ensnared by a love potion. Now read on..._

* * *

  


  


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**Chapter 7**

**More Haste, Less Speed**

  
  
  


Flight of Fancy 

There were a few moments immediately after Hermione awoke early on the day of the first task when she felt wonderful. A sparrow had perched close outside her dormitory and was chirping happily away; a timid sun had cast a window of light on the floor; her bedside rug looked warm and inviting for her bare feet. Yet ice gripped her heart as she swung out her legs, stood up, and remembrance of the occasion came to her thoughts. _Today I might die._

If she felt terrible then, there was another shock awaiting her at the foot of the girls' stairs: Harry, and he looked dreadful. His face seemed gaunt and haggard; there were dark shadows under his eyes as if he'd been up all night. 

"Harry?" 

"Where have you—! Why did you—!" He grabbed her arm and pulled her into a corner, then, seeing the attention of several early Gryffindors, he led her out through the portrait hole and they walked the corridors. 

"You can't do this Tournament thing, Hermione. You have to get out of it, somehow, no matter what. Anything is better than this." 

"What have you found out?" 

"Keep this to yourself, but Hagrid told me what the first task is. I spent all evening... I tried to reach you! None of the girls would go up and fetch you and I couldn't find Ginny!" 

"What is it, Harry? The first task?" 

"It's a dragon, Hermione! Hagrid showed me." 

"Hagrid...?" Hermione's shoulders slumped enough for Harry's arm to swing around them in fear she might fall. 

"I think Mad-eye gave Hagrid a nudge. Moody's rough but I think his heart is in the right place; maybe he thinks you have a chance of... well, getting through but I reckon you ought to quit and—" He broke off to look at Hermione's expression. "You okay?" 

"I'm alright, honestly, but... a dragon?" She shook her head. "Of all the creatures I considered, I never gave any attention to dragons. And they weren't going to tell anyone until you have to fight it?" 

"You don't have to fight it; you just have to steal one of its eggs." 

Her eyes widened but her face could not go any paler. "But a brooding, protective mother is the most dangerous..." 

He did not let go but guided her to a stone bench beside a statue. He warmed it with a charm before sitting them down. 

"I've been in the library since eleven o'clock last night searching for—" 

"You did what? How?" Her head cocked on one side as routine kicked in and she tried to orient her mind to their school schedule for yesterday and today. She shook her head. "What about your homework? What about sleep!" 

Harry stared at her in disbelief. "To hell with that, we have to do something!! 

A couple of first year girls passed them, sniggering and staring at the infamous couple sitting so close together in the niche. 

"I went to bed early and had a silly cry, Harry." She gestured at the backs of the youngsters as they watched them turn into the Gryffindor corridor, glancing back and still giggling. "Those two will be saying we were holding hands. They'll have us snogging by lunch, and married by teatime... I can't do this anymore, Harry; I can't keep facing this contempt and abuse and ridicule every day." 

Having reached out impulsively, his embrace was tentative and awkward at first but once Hermione responded then he held her tight. 

"I don't know what to do, Harry," she said. "It got on top of me yesterday but I have to face it day after day. One thing after another and... sometimes I wonder why I bother. I mean, I used to love this school, and I do still love magic, but honestly, there are times when—" 

"Time, yes!" Harry pulled away. That's why I wanted to see you. We don't have much time, Hermione. We've only two hours before lessons start." 

"Time for what? What about breakfast?" 

"To prepare for the task of course. We can eat later." He took her hand and pulled her after him, walking briskly down towards the front entrance. 

Hermione laughed dryly but she did not drag her heels. "There's no way to prepare, Harry, not for a dragon, not in a couple of hours — not even in a couple of months!" She looked at her watch. "The Task starts right after lunch." 

Harry looked grim and remained silent. Hermione realised he was leading her towards the Quidditch Pitch. 

"Are you sure about this, Harry?" she said doubtfully. "I don't see how they can hold a dragon on the pitch." 

"No, the dragons are in an enclosure just inside the Forest." He stopped and pointed towards the Quidditch locker rooms building. Their side was covered by tall bushes but the roof was visible. 

"I've put my Firebolt up on top. Summon it, Hermione." 

"Now I know you're joking, Harry. "She smiled weakly. "I suppose this is for the dragon to pick its teeth after it's eaten me? Seriously, though Harry, it's your most precious possession and likely it'll get destroyed." 

Harry's eyes bulged with incredulity. "Do you really think I give a rat's... tail about my stupid Firebolt! This is not about a bit of wood getting broken, it's about you getting hurt!" 

His face seemed to crumple and he turned away as if to study the broom shed nearby. 

She looked at him then in a new light, knowing full well how much he thought of Sirius's gift. Concern filled her eyes. "Harry, you're not... you know, going... erm... soft on me, are you? You know I can't return those feelings." 

He whirled around. "Don't be silly, of course not! You know we're friends. Didn't you think a friend can care that much about you?" 

Hastily, she added, "I was only joking, Harry. I know we're..." 

Hermione was astonished by the strength of his affection and she looked away, feeling uncomfortable for him and rather puzzled. "Accio Firebolt." 

The broomstick came readily to her hand but then reality struck home. "I can't fly for tuppence, Harry, remember? I feel giddy standing on a thin coat of paint let alone riding a wooden pole at a hundred feet. I'll never fly high, and definitely not dodge and weave and spin like you and—" 

"You don't have to Hermione. It's just to give you a bit of speed. Keep low to the ground and use it instead of running to keep out the way. I mean, anything's better than actual running, right?" He paused. "You've got to be really, really careful, Hermione." 

She looked closely at his expression. There were tears in his eyes. Hermione shook her head. "Harry, we're just friends." 

He recoiled very slightly, changed his expression, then snapped, "Of course!" 

She sighed then said, "Up!" 

"She likes you," said Harry, when the Firebolt rose obediently to Hermine's grip. Hermione smiled nervously, secretly rather proud of herself and confident enough to swing a leg over. 

"Now, try it low and slow, Hermione." 

She gently pushed off, keeping the broomstick level but she was sitting a little too far back and the bristles brushed across the grass. 

"Erm... a fraction higher would be good, Hermione." 

"Actually, this feels more stable," she called back. 

"Yes, but..." Harry had scurried after her and was now sprinting alongside. "you won't get the best speed with it dragging along." 

They squabbled for a few minutes during which time Hermione compromised and roller-coastered along a few feet off the ground then down again to steady her wobbles. Eventually, Harry persuaded her to let him show her how to stabilise it better. She did not admit it but she was glad to step back on firm ground even after that short trip. 

Harry stumbled when he mounted his broom and Hermione giggled which earned her an embarrassed glare from her friend. "This is serious, Hermione." She nodded and smothered her grin. 

"You have to treat her with respect," he said earnestly. "Be friendly and she'll be friendly back." He leaned forward gently until he was almost lying along the shaft, coaxing the broomstick with whispers until it came smoothly around in a low circle. 

Hermione blinked; she felt as if she were intruding on a private conversation. "Harry?" 

He whispered some more and he circled again but this time banking slightly. "You see? She wants to be stable for you without any real effort." 

_Confound it if I'm going to talk to a wooden pole,_ thought Hermione. _Anyone would think it was a horse!_ She laughed. "What's her name, Harry?" 

He was startled out of his reverie and almost fell off. Abruptly, he shot up vertically — not before she saw he looked rather flustered. But by the time he had descended he seemed to have composed himself and handed over the Firebolt for Hermione to try again without any further mention of 'spooky broom-whispering' as a relieved Hermione thought of it. 

They practised sweeping around and between the shed and the changing rooms block. There was nothing much to it, not even for Hermione Granger who had scarcely sat on a broomstick since her first year, but Harry kept coaxing her to keep training for another half-hour before he was satisfied. 

"You don't need to go higher than three or four feet if that's what makes you feel safe but you're still dragging along the ground sometimes, Hermione. It's just nerves." Seeing her expression he added hastily, "But you're improving! With practice you'll be fine. You see, a broom's an advantage even at the most elementary level. to help you race across the ground." 

She nodded but looked sceptical. 

"There's another thing. I know it's not much but I found this spell—" 

"Oh, I've got one too," said Hermione. "A silly old thing I learnt in first year that I'd almost forgotten." 

"Erm... tell me yours first, then." He hoped it wasn't the same one he'd spent hours searching for in the stack of books he'd acquired from the library. 

"It's only the _Repellere_ shield charm. Wizards sometimes used it to fend off goblin arrows and Muggle attacks — easier and longer-lasting than a shield charm for physical things like that. It doesn't stop spells so nobody really remembers it anymore." She looked disappointed in Harry's apparent lack of enthusiasm. "Well, I th- thought it might deflect a swish of the beast's tail, or being stomped on... I mean, it can't do any harm can it if I charm myself first? It won't stop dragon fire, of course..." she tailed off lamely. 

"Ah, well, mine does — for a short time anyway." 

Seeing her eyes light up with hope, he added hastily, "It'll only last a few seconds of the most intense heat but at least you can use it repeatedly." 

"Not during the same..." She tailed off but Harry knew what she meant. A dragon would not extinguish its long flaming blast while it waited for her to wave her puny wand again. She saw the disappointment in his eyes and felt rather ungrateful. "It'll be jolly useful actually. It will give me a couple of seconds to get to cover on your trusty steed — there will be cover, won't there, Harry?" 

"Erm..." 

"Show me the spell, Harry." 

He slung the Firebolt back up on the roof and gave Hermione a meaningful nod and she nodded back. "Yes, I won't forget the broomstick, I promise you." 

He took out his wand. "There's no special movement. Just point it at yourself like so. The incantation is... Protego Ex Incendio!" 

Hermione looked dubious. "I don't see any difference." 

"Well, no. I mean, it's..." 

"How do you know if it works?" 

"The book says that Dragon herders and researchers use it all the time. I bet Charlie Weasley would know it." 

"How do you know when it ends?" 

"Erm... well it lasts two or three seconds according to the book." 

"Test it on me," she said. 

"What?" 

"Cast fire on me. I'll try to protect myself." 

"No way! Are you bonkers? I'm not shooting flames at you, Hermione. Forget it." He stomped left and right a few times agitatedly. 

"So you don't trust the protection spell?" 

"Well, yes, but..." 

"Then prove it." 

"You do it on me," said Harry. 

Hermione sighed. "Just my little finger then. Surely you can't be worried about one tiny little finger?" 

Harry grimaced. "I worry about every little bit of you, Hermione. I just can't." 

"Oh well, I'll have to do both then." She walked towards the bushes that stood outside the locker rooms and ignited a small branch. Harry could see what she intended and he ran forward to cut her off with his wand aimed at himself. 

"Protego Ex Incendio!" 

He thrust his arm into the flames. "See?" After a few short moments he pulled away abruptly with a sharp yelp; the sleeve was singed. "About three seconds, I reckon. Maybe four or five for you because your casting is usually stronger than mine for charms." 

She nodded doubtfully. 

There was silence between them for a while as they walked towards the Forest's edge. Neither of them noticed that behind them were three figures in Slytherin green slinking along by the locker rooms and looking up with great interest at the roof where the Firebolt lay... 

  


Pitch Inspection

Harry was silent and thoughtful as they approached the edge of the Forest. "What was that all about?" 

"What was WHAT all about?" she frowned. 

"Did you really think I fancied you or something?" 

"No, I told you I was joking." 

"I mean, we get that from everyone else; I don't want it from you as well. Why spoil it? We're friends, right?" 

"Of course we are." 

"Well then." 

She didn't answer. 

"I mean, you're more like a sister than anything, that's the nearest I can describe it. You have to understand that, Hermione. You do, don't you?" 

Again there was no response. 

"Well then," he said, as if that settled it. 

A high canvas wall could be seen through the treeline as they neared. 

"So why do you keep going on about it then?" She ran ahead to escape his answer. 

"Me? You were the one who—" He stopped and looked after her before running to catch up. _Surely she believes me?_

As they walked around looking for the entrance he struggled to understand what she was thinking. _She MUST be made to understand I could no more fancy her than my own mother!_ A sense of desperate urgency seized him, and a panic. Her life would be at risk this afternoon and he couldn't bear it if... "Look, Ron was a bit of a prat but he was fun company. You're more..." 

"So you don't like my company?" 

"No! I didn't say that! But you're always... I mean.... you don't—" 

There was noise like distant thunder rumbling. 

"Harry, did you feel the ground..." 

"... kind of shaking?" he finished for her. "Best we put on the invisibility cloak." 

They moved together and he wrapped the cloak around them, both immediately feeling very self-conscious. Harry didn't know why but he began to feel more and more irritable — as if something precious had been broken. 

"Why'd you have to say that, Hermione!" 

"I told you I was joking! Stop making a big fuss about it. Just forget about it, alright?" 

"I mean, we were okay together before. I valued your friendship. Now you've got this silly notion — and it's not true! I mean, it's really not true! And stop wriggling against me!" 

"What's up with you! I haven't got any such notion! Why are you so angry! I'm not wriggling! It's you that's pushing against me and anyway, we're getting older and the cloak's not getting any bigger is it!" 

"I can't help it, can I!" 

"Well it would help if you stop being a baby and put your arm around me instead of trying to fit in beside me! You never had a problem before — _brother!_!" 

"Yeah, well now you'll probably think it means something when it doesn't!" 

"No, I won't." 

"So we're quite clear then? It doesn't mean anything!" 

"I know it doesn't but—!" 

Hermione stopped speaking and stared. They had found the entrance. An enormous pit of hewn rock and scattered boulders stretched away below them but it was empty of anything living. The surround consisted of tiers of simple bench seating. 

"They must be holding the dragons beyond this somewhere. This looks like an arena," said Harry. Something within him wanted to carry on his huffiness but the majestic size of the stadium diverted him into awe. He tried to move forward to see better but was held back. He turned to the trembling girl under the cloak beside him. 

"Hermione?" 

She was biting her lip and seemed frozen to the spot. 

"Hermione?" he repeated. 

"I can't do it," she whimpered. 

"Exactly. That's what I said earlier. That's settled then." 

Harry shoulders seemed relieved of a great weight and she realised for the first time how severely tense and stressed he had been ever since she had met up with him in the common room. He let out a long breath of air and his face relaxed into a smile. 

_Does he remember the full implications of defaulting?_ she thought, then explained aloud, "I'll lose my magic and... have to leave Hogwarts, you know that." 

"Me too." 

"What?" 

"Hermione, I'm sick of it all. Ron will be okay but I don't see how he and I can ever be really close friends again, and I hate how everyone else treats you. Every day is miserable. If you left Hogwarts then there's nothing here for me at all." 

She flung both her arms around him then and squeezed tight. The cloak slipped to the floor but she no longer cared who might see them — they were friends! 

After a long while he pushed her gently away. "You're not...? With me?" 

"NO!" she cried. 

"Right then. We're just friends, right?" Harry felt more and more confused and upset. A tight knot of fear had clutched itself inside his stomach because he didn't know how to tell Hermione he was desperately afraid for her without her misunderstanding. 

"RIGHT!" Hermione felt sick inside. _Harry mustn't leave Hogwarts on my account — that would be too awful!_ "So DON'T do anything so STUPID as LEAVING!" 

No need to shout at me!" he snapped. 

"I'M NOT SHOUTING!" She cried tearfully, hitting him with a flurry of slaps and punches around his shoulders and chest. "Just go away, Harry. I want to... I want to... think about this place... a bit more..." 

"What for? Didn't we just agree we're both leaving Hogwarts right?" 

"JUST GO! I DON'T WANT TO BE WITH YOU ANYMORE!" 

Harry was taken aback. He snatched up his cloak and turned away, heading for the exit, feeling utterly rejected. Hermione had changed, he felt sure. The one great friendship in his life with someone special but now she wasn't that. Why? Was it the stress and fear of the Tournament? Perhaps it was having been condemned and hated by most of her peers. He knew all about that. Ron had isolated himself from both of them. Lucky Ron. He would not be hurt if anything happened to... 

He was half way to the castle when he noticed Malfoy with Crabbe and Goyle ahead of him walking in the same direction. _Why aren't they at breakfast in the Great Hall?_ He slowed his pace, not being in the mood for an encounter. _They know nothing about real friendship._

An astonishing thought struck him and he stopped, turned. _Real friendship!_ He sprinted quickly back towards the Tournament enclosure. _He would not be hurt if anything happened... not Ron — me!_ He understood now why she had driven him away. _She's trying to distance us so I won't be so hurt._

"Hermione! Hermione!" He gazed around the amphitheatre. But Hermione Granger was gone. 

  


A Shocking Discovery

Hermione had wiped her eyes and watched as Harry walked sadly away. It broke her heart but her prospects were already destroyed. Still, she would end it all with dignity, she told herself. Hermione lifted her chin and surveyed the arena. If she was to make the best of a bad situation she would need better information. 

The descent into the pit was difficult and she considered summoning Harry's broomstick but wanted no connection with him for a while — it hurt too much. Eventually she found herself wandering between its rocks trying to assess their positions and the general layout. When she reached the far side she sank down to sit on a low slab and shrugged her shoulders. There was clearly no way of judging where a dragon might lie and no way of preparing for the afternoon unless... 

Such a risk would have been unthinkable if she not been so upset and so bereft of hope for her future life. The Time-turner span forward just as easily as it had backwards. Eight times took her forward to her fate. Eight times revealed the same spot where she crouched concealed behind one of the largest of the great stone blocks. 

The stink of stale smoke and scorched earth hit the back of her throat. She peered out. It was strange, she thought, apart from the smells and the sun being in a different part of the sky and hidden by cloud, all looked the same. There were no spectators, no dragon, no... Then she saw them. A group of witches and wizards at the far side of the pit where another exit could be seen. She flinched back but quickly realised they were leaving. Of course! The Tournament had simply finished rather earlier than expected. It was odd though, that the spectators had departed so rapidly... 

She looked again. One of the wizards was young — rather like Harry — yes, it was him, she decided. His expression was very mournful. With three others he was carrying something between them and Dumbledore and McGonagall were there too, leading the way out. This was her chance! 

As soon as they were out of sight she cast a revealing spell to confirm the place was empty then began a thorough investigation. She had already espied something that glittered and quickly confirmed they were several chains with enormous iron links each as long as her arm bolted into the solid rock. The litter made it clear that this must be where each dragon would be held. Of course! The dragons would be tethered! How silly she thought herself now to have imagined the Headmaster would allow them to roam or even fly freely about. 

Up above and behind this area was a raised platform. It was clear it had been used for the organisers: Bagman no doubt giving the commentary from here and — naturally! Dumbledore would be close to the action ready to prevent any serious mishap. 

There were remnants of what could be a crude nest — rough dirt clawed around in a circular depression. Hermione visualised how the beast would have been lying down. The nearest large rock was thirty strides away. She paced it out. It might be possible to reach the eggs on the Firebolt. She closed her eyes, visualising how she much time she might have to dash close to the eggs. Two seconds before the beast saw her coming and responded. Two more to reach the nest — but how to return to safety before the spell ended its fire protection? And how could she even get to that nearest rock in the first place? 

Again she paced out the distance from that last rock to the tall boulder that preceded it. She could see tracks where contestants had ran from cover to cover. How had they survived? Had Cedric Diggory known beforehand what he would face? Otherwise, it was hard to see how he... 

She sagged to the ground and her mouth fell open in shock. Before her, against the side and partly behind the great rock that would be nearest the beast, the earth was dreadfully scorched. Worse, it was blackened and she could pick out Diggory's human shape in the worst of it: there his leg would have laid, the ground still grooved where his foot had kicked out its last agony; the blackened mark where his head had laid further on behind the rock; and the long dark scorch where his arm had reached out to safety one second away. He had almost made it. Behind this death mark was a trail through the rocky soil where he had, perhaps, dragged an injured leg. Had that been his downfall? Had they not allowed him to quit even though he had a broken leg! 

Hermione was too appalled to move for many minutes. The reality was sinking in. This was not an historical account in a dusty old homework tome — it was writ in the bloody earth in front of her. She approached the deathly spot, feeling apprehensive, willing herself forward in the name of research just as surely as if she were in the library. 

Another scuffed depression further on behind the rock drew her attention. Had that been where she herself had crouched? Had she bettered Diggory? Could it be possible she had... She walked beyond the disturbed area and reviewed again the distance to the dragon's nest. Had she done it? What of the others? What of Fleur and Krum? How did she know this imprint was her own? Or the... She turned back to the scorched earth, took a closer look, then sank down, crawling with horror. 

The dragon's victim had not been as tall as Diggory — nor Krum, that much was obvious, but neither was it Fleur's height. It could only have been herself who had died here. 

Hermione leaned back against the rock face. She wept softly for her other self and the valiant attempt as if it were someone else who had made this effort in the past instead of the future she herself would have to face this afternoon. The dirt she scooped up and let trickle back was to be where she would — no, _had_ died. It had already happened and _would_ happen and could not be undone. She descended down through despair into numbness. 

It was many minutes before she could collect herself and rise up again to stand on her own death spot. The trail dragged through the loose stones hadn't been caused by Cedric's leg — it must have been scraped by the tail end of the Firebolt. Had she been too nervous and flew too low? She made a mental note: she must NOT be tempted to fly high to compensate or reality might be changed and catastrophe ensue. She MUST die. Her broomstick had dragged; that was an unchangeable fact she must adhere to. 

Up she looked to the stands. Had they cheered when she died? What would Bagman have announced? _Oh, what rotten luck! Still, serve her right for putting her name in the Goblet!_ Then a great roar of approval would go up from the crowd? 

And what of Dumbledore! What of his promise? Why had he not...? Hermione's gaze turned to the dignitaries' platform but she had to step out from the rock to see it properly... 

It took her only a couple of minutes to ascend up to the balcony. A dented cone megaphone — it looked like the one used for Quidditch — still lay at the foot of the announcer's chair where it must have fallen when her death was witnessed. At the back would have been Mr Crouch from the Ministry. It was clear the front central seat much have been Dumbledore's; from there he would have the best view and the best hope of helping anyone in distress. Had he been distracted? How could he not have noticed the conflagration down there? 

She spun around and looked down over the railing towards the side of that final big rock. The blackened earth was visible but her own momentum had hurtled her forward. She had almost made it behind the stone! Dumbledore would have stunned or bound the dragon first to stop the flaming breath instantly, but, partly-obscured as she had been by the rock from this vantage, he would have been unable to see her well enough to douse her already-burning body, nor could he reach her in time to prevent her being utterly consumed by fire. The rock itself had been her downfall! 

Seeing the place where she must inevitably die produced a hollowness rising up within her. Life was over and all of her young years now lacked any purpose. Her search to fully comprehend Merlin's Blessing had been fruitless; there was no more time and nowhere left to go. She prayed for Harry — that he might find a friend to replace her, someone who would watch his back and care about him as single-mindedly as she had. Finally, weary of grieving for herself, she spun back the Time-turner; it was crucial that she live out her final hours as normal and meet her end with dignity. Not to do so could produce an unpredictable catastrophe in Time itself. She reached towards the chain at her throat. 

Hermione turned the tiny hourglass back, making adjustments so she didn't run into her earlier self or Harry. As the hazy colour-shapes whirled past her, she held out her arms as if to drink in the blurring arena; to embrace the reality that would soon be lost to her. Flames flashed briefly, and a great eye on a huge scaly head blinked by, a thousand faces danced around her accompanying by a dull, averaged, monotone roar of sound then, abruptly, gravity returned, the ground pressed upon the soles of her feet once more, and she stifled a cry of astonishment. 

What Hermione perceived as she came to rest shocked her to the core like nothing she had ever seen before — even more than seeing her own deathbed. In that moment she knew there was much more to do before she died and she must not fail if she was to secure Harry's survival. She contemplated for a long time, that which faced her. Yes, yes, it was the only way! It has already happened! But.... Her thinking tore her apart. Nearly an hour passed before she resigned herself to all the things she would have to do — what she _must_ do! 

_Think, think!_ Filch had told Fudge he'd seen her sneak out to Hogsmeade early the previous weekend — that event had already taken place so she must fulfil it or there would be discord in Time. Next, it was vital that she return to the last few months of James's life because, she now realised, there was evidence that she already had done so. Not to perform it would cause a terrible rift in Time. Yet how to avoid interaction and disastrous changes? And worse, far, far worse, eventually she had to go way back to April, 1912 to speak to Galfrid Potter on board the great ship Titanic. That meeting was recorded on the page she had copied from the Peverell Library biography and must not be undone — though how she was supposed to survive the infamous sinking of that vessel she had no idea. 

How bitterly she now regretted having made a duplicate of the Time-turner! The ensuing complications and possible calamities were all inconceivable, unbelievable, but she now knew what had taken place already and there was no choice but to fulfil that destiny or risk tearing away the very fabric of Time itself. If only Crookshanks had not found that scrap of litter on the train last summer, none of this would have come to pass! 

  


Finding the Past

When Hermione Portkeyed to the Peverell Retreat, she took utmost care to hide behind the desk in the study. Diligently, she calculated the hours that would place her at a time when she was least likely to be seen — in the middle of the night. Then, with shaking hands she cast a spell to spin back the Time-turner thousands of rotations to the summer of 1981... 

To say that she startled James was an understatement! He almost fell of his chair where he was seated at the very desk she had hoped would conceal her. Papers flew everywhere as he scrabbled, yelling in alarm, to find his wand. Finally remembering, he made a dash for the open doorway of the potions room, cursing himself for not being more prepared against intruders. 

Hermione herself had tumbled over backwards in astonishment, but at least she then had the presence of mind to spin the Time-turner onwards twelve hours before cautiously standing up and looking around. All was quiet but she remained alert, slipping out to the entrance hall to check the local time. The grandfather clock showed it was three o'clock and the skylights above were spangled with starlight — it must have been afternoon when she shocked James. Just how inaccurate had the Time-turner been? Was she even on the right day? The right year? There was no way of telling. She dare not even seek out the ghosts for fear of changing the future. 

The only safe place, she decided in a panic, was the potions room itself — neither of the ghosts had ever been seen to enter there, and probably had no reason to unless asked. Hurrying, she returned to the study. The door to the potions room was closed. Carefully she opened the door... 

A blasting curse from within hit her in the shoulder but without effect — the door crashed away past her onto the study floor with a tremendous BANG. The furious red-haired woman who ran at her could only be a mother protecting her offspring — Lily! 

"OUT! OUT!" the woman screamed, thrusting her wand like a dagger ahead of her charge as Hermione staggered back in fright. 

Hermione had one glimpse of a wild-eyed James behind Lily hastily slamming shut his log book with one hand while clutching a crying baby in the other before she spun the Time-turner backwards a full day. 

Still shaking, she checked her body for injuries but found herself unharmed — and she thought she had some idea why. There was evidence that the defective Time-turner was not moving all of her evenly through time. Like an after-image, aspects of her physicality were taking minutes to catch up after travelling through time. It was a strange concept but it explained much that she was experiencing. She could touch surfaces but she herself lacked substance for a short time. 

What a mess she had made of everything, she told herself, breathing a sigh of resignation. She should have realised James and Lily would have been prepared for the return of an intruder. It must have been something extremely important that had brought them here with Harry in the middle of the night after James's earlier scare. She MUST keep out of sight in future! The door was still intact. Slowly she approached it once more... 

"Ah, THERE you are!" cried a voice from behind her. 

"Aaah!" Hermione's heart leapt a third time as she stumbled around to see... it was Lord Cautius who had called out as he entered. 

"No, don't, Miss Granger!" he hastily added as Hermione reached once more for the Time-turner. Following him was the Lady Candria. 

"You know me?" Hermione frowned, trying to think how that could be possible if this really was 1981. 

A parchment was flapping in the air behind Candria. "We doth know much of thee — more than thou dost thyself mayhap." 

"How? Who told you about me?" 

Lady Candria smiled. " 'Twas _thyself_ that didst us inform." 

The parchment burst into flames and the ashes drifted towards the glowing coals in the fireplace of which Hermione only then became aware. She wrinkled up her brow again. "Isn't this summer? It should be. What is the time and date?" 

"It is three in the morning of October the 27th, 1981," said Lord Cautius. watching her reaction carefully. 

Hermione's body instinctively jerked towards the potions room where she had last seen the doomed family, then she stopped herself. _No, I can't tell them and I must not save them,_ she thought sadly. 

"Are they... the Potters, are they still here? Rather, I mean..." 

"Still? Nobody has been here for a while," said Cautius. "James was here about ten days ago — all of them the week before that." 

"All?" 

Candria smiled. "Never doth Mistress Lily leave young Harry behind in this sad age. I bear hope of being entrusted with his instruction two years hence — the boy is wonderfully inquisitive. But e'er now, they do keep him close." 

_She doesn't know! I won't have told them that James and Lily will die in a few days time, and Harry... Harry will never come here again..._

Aloud, she said, "Then they have another Portkey, don't they?" and Candria lowered her head in agreement. She looked to Cautius as if for his approval, and he nodded. 

Hermione said. "May I... am I allowed to use the potions room? In this time, I mean?" 

"Yes, you have been given permission." 

"From Lady Potter?" smiled Hermione. 

"Thou does know of her?" Lady Candria appeared astonished and Cautius frowned with puzzlement. 

Hermione continued, "She's Deidre, isn't she — James's grandmother. Yes, I looked it up. And yes, I do know exactly who she is and... how she became a spectre." 

Both ghosts shook their heads as if shocked at the young girl's knowledge. 

"But thou ought not... how didst thou—?" began Candria. 

"Enough! There is no reward in knowing too much," said Cautius. "We must attend our instructions." 

There was a gleam in Hermione's eyes. "This is why you were — I mean, _will be_ — so secretive, isn't it! I told you in that message what to say, didn't I? And to be careful not to say anything that would cause a conflict in Time?" 

" 'Tis so, my Lady," said Candria, but again she had looked to Cautius before she spoke. 

  


The Benediction Code

Despite their reassurance, Hermione was still edgy after her several scares so proceeded into the potions room with a finger on the Time-turner held before her like a shield, only relaxing when she could see the chamber was empty. She closed the door behind her and leaned back on it, feeling a little weak from all the draining events of recent days. Only now had she time and privacy to contemplate the experience of being in 1981. 

_Right this moment, both Harry and I are still babies with our parents!_ A bitter smile of regret shadowed across her face as she tried to recapture the memory of that brief glimpse of her friend. _Poor Harry... poor baby..._ She shook her head as if to scatter the sorrow from her mind. Her head hurt but she had to press on and complete the task that fate seemed to have assigned her. Reality was always more poignant than reading an historical account of tragedy. 

She sighed and went across to the workbench. Why had James so hurriedly closed his book when he saw her? It was open now, and laying across the upmost potion recipe was a folded sheet of parchment. Trembling with excitement, she opened it up and began to read the rough note at the top: 

_m.ben. 14. — D complete. T acceptable. M is excellent. Steep 9 H at least one more week then enough base for 3. try brass, pewter, phosphor bronze for Ty's c._

Below that was were listed runes as well as the missing ingredient codes! Hermione's eyes blazed wide and the parchment shook as she realised the importance of what she held in her hand. _m.ben. 14 can only be Merlin's Benediction — James's fourteenth attempt!_

"So it IS a potion!" she cried aloud, joyful, at her discovery. 

She stood there for a while as her smile gradually faded. _Yet it must have failed for they were murdered soon after... some blessing,_ mused Hermione. 

Again and again she re-read the parchment. What had gone wrong? Only a day or two from now, James will instead be attempting to create the less-useful guardian charm on the bookmark. It must have broken his heart to know he had not yet been able to produce the powerful Merlin's Blessing for his loved ones. 

_So, what chance do I have?_

The runes she found scratched on the cauldron itself. This application of the mystic characters was new to her but she studied them and nodded as she began to appreciate the way they cycled neatly around the bowl, forming several sequences depending from where one commenced reading them. At least they were simple and made sensible progressions, even though just how their enchantment affected the potion preparation was likely lost to history. 

The metal alloys puzzled her though; to the best of her knowledge, none of those would combine with the other ingredients — nor were they listed amongst them. Metal components were normally salts, sulphates, and so on, not pure alloys. What then? She stared at the clutter on the worktop but the solution eluded her. There were the vials and canisters of ingredient ready for use together with a good supply of clean goblets and cannikins. She recognised the strands of silverweed soaking in a small bowl — yes, that was Ingredient H in the code list he had been waiting for, but that was ten days ago so it must be ready now! All that remained was the alloy, but what was it? 

She could not return to her own time without the answer: the first task of the Tournament awaited her. The recollection added ever more pressure to her worried mind. 

Without warning, headache and nausea and a great weariness swept over her. Feeling very frail and sickly, she found a stool to sit upon. The continuing stress and fear of the last few weeks were taking their toll. Pepperup Potion would take too long to prepare and she had never done it before. A calming draught would have to suffice. 

The ingredients needed little preparation and no heating. She filtered the bowl into a goblet from the bench and, as recommended, sipped it very slowly. As her insides began to relax she gazed blankly at the division markers on the inside of the little goblet: 4 drams, 3 drams, 2 drams... nausea was replaced by a pleasurable wooziness. The 1 dram demarcation gleamed like gold and a bright idea flashed into her mind. 

"Brass?" She jerked up to her feet, spilling the final dram but not caring. "This goblet is made of brass!" 

She examined the other receptacles — a few were pewter and some had a reddish-orange sheen she assumed was phosphor bronze. The drinking containers were meant to form part of the Blessing potion! This was unheard of, Hermione felt sure. 

And then, as if a light turned on in her mind, she knew: Merlin's Blessing must originally have included a real, physical cup and James neither had it, nor knew of what it was composed. He was guessing, trying different materials in the hope he would get lucky. But then how could he have known? How could anyone know? 

_Someone must have, someone right here in this Retreat,_ she told herself, _or how had James discovered anything about Merlin's Blessing at all?_

She frowned at James's parchment. What had she missed? Either she must use the Time-turner to travel the centuries or... _ask someone who already has!_

Hermione sprinted from the room and dashed breathlessly into the library. 

"Lady Candria! Lady Candria!" 

The young ghost was dozing in her seat but came awake with a start. Hermione thrust the parchment before her. 

"See — _Ty's c_ — is that your brother Tybalt? Did he have a special cup, do you know? Did James not ever ask you?" 

Candria blinked herself slowly awake. "Wast so agreeably I didst dream..." she murmured. "What is't? Tybalt thou sayest? No, James ne'er knew Tybalt wast my kin. Let me see..." 

The parchment sprang from Hermione's hand and floated before the sleepy ghost. "Oh, that... 'tis a little chalice — unsafe methinks he did caution. ... didst hide ... in a little closet..." She drifted down into her slumbers again and Hermione caught the parchment as it fell. 

If Hermione had possessed eyes in the back of her head as she raced back to the potions room, then she might have noticed Candria cock one bright ghostly eye open and give a little smile... 

  


Merlin's Cup

The cabinet, Hermione knew well, for it was the one hanging at an angle above the bucket of vials all these years. 

" ' _unsafe to use'_ — but you never meant the cupboard, did you, Tybalt? You were warning people away from its contents," she muttered as she cast her own spell upon it: 

"Finite!" 

There it was; hidden for centuries by a concealment spell that even James had not noticed amongst the many other charms. Almost afraid to touch it, Hermione gazed in wonder upon the spectacular relic that she knew wizards had sought down the ages. Merlin's Cup was a very small but exquisitely-shaped chalice with elaborate, decorative swirls of various metals both around and within the bowl. What these materials were, Hermione could not guess, and all of James's simple alloy trials could never have approached this complexity. To duplicate the combinations precisely would be considerably difficult if not impossible, even if one had the cup to copy. Together, they formed the exact supplements needed to complete the potion — Merlin's Blessing — of that, Hermione was now sure. 

Once it was lifted out into the candlelight, the vessel glinted mysteriously. Had Merlin himself held this delightful artifact? For a long while, Hermione gazed at the cup, caressing it like a wonderful book, sensing the enormity of history between her fingers, her cares forgotten. 

"By Merlin!" She knew now the power of the oath she had never before used, how the man had influenced wizardkind for so long. Merlin's Cup practically groaned with the weight of magic that bewitched it — for only such overwhelming sorcery could change the course of someone's entire life for the better. 

_Harry..._

Hermione pushed the cup deeply into her bag and set to work. James had gathered together an abundance of the necessary ingredients, and would not miss a good proportion of them. The silverweed felt supple and fit for use. She lit the tinder beneath the cauldron and began to measure out the proportions according to James's list. 

An hour passed in which she dare not omit or add a single stir beyond his instruction and was rewarded with a vivid ultramarine spirit that smelt of life, adventure, and exciting possibilities. She bottled and corked it then placed it handily in the top of her bag before preparing to leave. 

After tidying up and restoring everything to the positions in which James and Lily would remember them, she cast one last look around then calculating fresh adjustments for the inaccuracy of the device, she spun the Time-turner forward to return to her own natural time... to Harry's time... to breakfast time! 

  


A Movement In Magic

When Harry Potter returned from the arena, he was still stinging from Hermione's words of rejection as well as worried about her disappearance. Was she upset because of him or by fear of the coming task? There was enough time remaining for a quick breakfast before lessons began but he was in for a surprise when he entered the Great Hall. 

"Hermione!" he hissed quietly as he slipped into a seat beside her. "What's going on? Why'd you come back without me?" He grabbed for some toast and began scraping it thickly with butter. 

"Harry, I found it!" whispered Hermione. She had, as usual, chosen a place at the table away from the other Gryffindors, yet to Harry, she appeared especially furtive. She glanced left and right then mouthed, "Merlin's Blessing!" 

"I know, you told me," frowned Harry, still slightly grumpy that she had forsaken him earlier. He took a big bite of toast, washing it down quickly with a swig of hot tea. 

"No, no, not that — that was a different spell. I mean—" 

"Different?" he munched. 

"Listen, I made a mistake — that was a guardian spell your dad discovered as well. No, I found the real—" 

Harry finished his slice and grabbed at a crunchy bacon sandwich. 

"Harry, will you please pay attention! This is important!" 

"Sorry — go on." He chewed rapidly on the food, scrutinising her expression thoughtfully. 

"There won't be many opportunities this morning. You have to..." — she opened her bag and angled it towards him — "drink this potion while you still can. I believe it will bless you and keep you from harm." 

"Me? What about you? You're the one in the Tournament." 

Hermione sighed. "Harry, you're not seeing the big picture. Voldemort has already tried to kill you several times and every year something horrible happens to you. This is a chance to turn that around. This is really powerful magic, Harry. It can help you." 

Harry shook his head, tugging with his jaws at another bite of bacon. "Only if you do as well." 

She nibbled at her lower lip worriedly then mumbled as if she didn't want him to hear, "There was only enough for one; I daren't take any more ingredients or they'd have been missed." 

He stopped munching, swallowed, and stared at her. "Then no, I won't drink it, Hermione!" 

"If you only knew the trouble I've taken to bring this to you," she moaned. 

"Where'd you get the ingredients, anyway? When did you mix it? You've not had time. How'd you know it's Merlin's recipe?" 

"Please trust me, Harry. I promise I'll explain everything later. Oh, please say you'll drink it." 

"No, I won't. Your need is greater than mine." 

Hermione let out a long soft groan. _What if this secret dies with me? It could happen no matter how carefully I've prepared._

"Hermione?" He could see how stressed she was. 

"Ooh, Harry, I hate to do this ..." She hesitated, still fighting with the doubts in her head. "...but there's no time left ... Confundus." 

She had murmured the charm and kept her wand low. Harry's expression had gone blank. He stopped chewing, staring through her to nowhere. 

_Oh, no... what am I doing...? I'm awful..._ she murmured to herself. She came to a decision and braced herself: it was all or nothing now. "Carry on eating, Harry, act natural." 

"Act natural..." he repeated mechanically, taking in the last bite of his sandwich and licking his fingers. 

A few students were rising and beginning to leave; breakfast was almost over. 

Hermione dug out Merlin's cup from the bottom of her bag and placed it carefully between their two tea mugs to obscure the tiny vessel as much as possible. Even so, she could not help but think she was being watched as she poured the contents of the vial into the enchanted chalice. She looked up. Professor Babbling was gazing directly at her. 

"Don't let your tea get cold, Harry," said Hermione, hurriedly. 

"I should finish my tea," he said flatly and reached out for his mug. 

"No, it's this chalice, Harry." 

"Yes, it's this chalice." 

Harry Potter drank Merlin's Blessing without any fuss. There were no fireworks, no hallelujahs, and when the headmaster rose to his feet, it was merely to depart the hall, and not, Hermione hoped, to investigate the huge movement in magic that had taken place. Yet Babbling continued to stare thoughtfully at Hermione. 

.

  


Preparing For The Worst

Dread of what awaited Hermione seemed to have accelerated all the clocks at Hogwarts. The first lesson of the morning, History of Magic, had never rushed by so quickly, for she skated over every word of Binns' monotonous lecture. Now she had fulfilled the quest that she had set herself on the train home last summer, Hermione had become entirely focused on the terrifying challenge which awaited her after lunch. 

Apprehension was diverting her thinking into curious and ridiculous avenues, and she found herself clutching at every straw of an idea the moment it wafted across her mind: _Why not use the Time-turner to put off the first task for a few hours?_ or _Perhaps if I Confund myself it won't hurt so much..._ and _Ah, well, it'll soon be all over, one way or another._ This latter thought did not cheer her up as she had hoped, though she conceded it was one of the more sane notions that were rushing through her mind. 

Somewhere out there was Harry's voice offering advice and support about his Firebolt as they headed downstairs for lunch: 

"Remember, keep calm, treat her gently and she'll fly smoothly for you." — "No need to take any chances, edge around looking for an opening but don't take it unless it's totally risk-free." — "It must surely be a perfectly legal strategy to wait for the dragon to fall asleep." 

The Great Hall appeared to approach and swallow her, which was more than she could do with her lunch. She pecked at it slowly while the dark hour seemed to be hastening ever faster towards her. 

"You should eat something, Hermione," fretted Harry. 

She stopped staring at her plate to take a good look at him. He looked even worse than when she had first awoken. She understood fully now why they were such wonderful friends, and why he was family more than ever to her. Briefly, she put her hand on his. 

"Have a wonderful life, Harry." 

The crease of his frown deepened. "Hermione? Wh—?" 

"Miss Granger, the champions have to come down into the grounds now ... you have to get ready for your first task," said Professor McGonagall, softly. 

Hermione did not look at Harry again, but rose up and followed McGonagall without speaking. Behind her, she heard his fork drop onto his plate with a clatter. 

McGonagall wasn't herself, either. As they walked out into the cold November afternoon, she put a hand on Hermione's shoulder. 

"Now, don't panic," she said, "just keep a cool head ... we've got wizards on hand to control the situation if it gets out of hand ... the main thing is just to do your best, and nobody will think any the worse of you ... are you alright?" 

"Yes," Hermione distantly heard herself say. "Yes, I'm fine." 

.

  


Hermione's Fate

"They've put Krum last, so Hermione must be next," said Neville, pointing at the Tournament scoreboard which showed Fleur Delacour way ahead of Diggory. "I reckon the French girl knew something, don't you?" 

Harry didn't answer. His throat was too dry nor did he give a damn about anyone else in the competition. 

"I hope Hermione will be alright," said Luna, from Harry's other side. "She must have drawn the worst dragon of them all. Those look like Hungarian Horntail eggs — they can kill you with one blow of their tail you know, their mother I mean." 

Ginny, from beyond Neville, leaned around him to look at Harry's expression, but she too said nothing when she saw how distraught he looked. 

A tall iron gate crashed opened at the opposite end of the arena and a thunderous cry went up from the crowd as mighty chains rattled and groaned, drawing the creature inwards. The moment she saw her eggs, the dragon released a formidable roar and ambled to them, eventually settling down in a vast curl of scaly flesh about the rough gravel nest. 

Ludo Bagman, the announcer, was shouting something through an old megaphone but Harry's senses were dulled to all but the lone figure that had appeared below him in the deep amphitheatre. Hermione did not look up, and Harry, wanting to reach out to her, felt an uneasy sense of loss. 

The crowd had become quieter now. There was no jeering. Some of the offensive badges were turned off. All they could see was a young schoolgirl alone in a pit with an intimidating beast that even adult experts would not willingly face alone. The tension was much greater than with the first two much older competitors. 

Hermione's outstretched arm told Harry she had summoned his Firebolt and he looked up to see it sailing over the wall and down to her waiting grasp. 

_Remember, be gentle with her, Hermione, and she'll respond._

The dragon stirred restlessly, the great mass of its head turning slowly from side to side, sniffing the air, but she could not directly see Hermione. 

Harry heard Ginny call down to her friend, "Just stay there!" for Hermione had taken refuge behind the nearest tall rock. She appeared to be examining her wristwatch but Harry could tell she was also assessing the distance to the next boulder, trying to time that first sprint. 

He started making his own estimates then. The left side of the arena from his viewpoint looked to have the most cover. She could advance in reasonable safety and appear to be seriously trying, but delay until her time ran out. He tried to shout some encouragement but only a croak escaped his lips. 

A glance at the organisers' stand on the far right revealed Dumbledore leaning forward, eagerly keeping a concerned eye on proceedings. Harry was reassured to see the Headmaster was alert and with his wand already in his hand in case of emergencies. Other members of the staff were spaced around, ready to help or control the crowd if necessary. 

Hermione's first dash, when it came, took Harry by surprise. Her wand moved — which he thought afterwards must be her casting his fire shield spell — then she pushed the Firebolt into a clumsy but rapid sprawl along the ground and was soon safely behind the next rock. Apparently the dragon had not even noticed. 

Far, far away from Harry it seemed, the crowd roared their approval, but his Quidditch instincts were shouting much more loudly at him. _The Firebolt's all wrong! Something's not right with my Firebolt._

He looked above her along that western wall to see if anyone had cast a curse. It would not have surprised him to see Malfoy grinning there — but that edge was marked by the trees fringing the Forest and there was no seating along its middle section. His attention went back down to the girl who was, once more, checking the time. The crowd were now chanting, "ON! ON! ON!" 

_That's it, Hermione, ignore them. Work it out. Eight seconds I reckon to the next one. It's further out into the middle so curve right first to get behind it then forward and you can be safe in seven..._

"She's clever, isn't she?" Luna shouted in his ear above the noise. "I wish she was in Ravenclaw." 

Harry was on his feet. Hermione had made her dash without drawing the dragon's attention but had taken too long. Even allowing for her awkward control, the Firebolt seemed... 

"Sluggish! The broomstick's been hexed!" 

Luna was looking at him strangely. "How can you tell?" 

"The way Hermione leaned — her posture — the angle. I know my broom; it should have moved faster than that. I have to tell the headmaster!" 

"Perhaps it's only the—!" 

But Harry was gone. He was sprinting up to the parapet walkway behind the top row of seats where he began quickly edging along while keeping his eyes on Hermione far below. 

The Horntail's roar was louder than the first two dragons had been. It raised its head to challenge the intruder it had glimpsed between the piles of rock. Hermione was safe again for the moment, carefully checking Lily's wristwatch. 

"Where do you think you're going, Potter?" Professor Snape was blocking Harry's way. 

"I have to warn Dumbledore. Something's wrong with—" 

"The Headmaster has everything under control. Take your seat or I shall have to evict you from the stadium." 

"But..." 

"Potter...! Now!" 

Harry saw neither his glare nor his arm pointing the way back to his seat. Hermione was still waiting to get to the last rock, closer to the Forest side, it was significantly farther than her previous flights. Harry looked at the Horntail, it seemed restless... 

"DON'T, HERMIONE!" he yelled. 

He felt a hand grip his shoulder. "POTT... _ER!_ " 

The world seemed to slow. Harry felt Snape's fingers lose their hold as he tugged himself away down between the rows of seats, down, down towards the deep enclosure. Hermione was only halfway when the dragon thundered its anger, raised its mighty wings, and opened its jaws... 

Had Hermione heard Harry's warning shout? For one moment her pale face looked up at him, then Harry's eyes bulged wide in horror as the brute's flames engulfed her. 

She almost made it to the boulder... two... three... four... seconds in which he could see the fire shield protecting her... he leaping down from the stands into the pit to distract the dragon's wrath — then both girl and broomstick were one fireball skidding along the ground almost behind the rock where the Headmaster's spell could not fully reach her. With a swift wave of his wand, Dumbledore silenced the dragon then launched himself into the air, riding the wind in white silvery light. By the time he had reached the blazing corpse, Harry was already sprinting across to him. 

Dumbledore doused the flaming body but huge arms engulfed Harry, holding him back. "LET GO OF ME! LET GO!" 

"Nuthin' yeh can do fer her, Harry. Don' ye look on it..." 

A grotesque, smouldering, black-ribbed carcass, that was all Harry glimpsed before Hagrid dragged him away, kicking and screaming and struggling to pull out his wand. He badly wanted to curse someone — anyone — everyone, for what they had done... for the suffering they had heaped upon the greatest friend he had ever had. 

From across the stadium, the now-silent spectators watched Dumbledore, crouched, inspecting the remains with McGonagall behind him, hand to mouth and weeping openly. The Headmaster shook his lowered head in grief. Magic could not help the girl anymore. 

For Harry, long minutes stretched into melancholic hours, then into tortured days. All that time, he kept to himself, growling and moaning his pain. Why hadn't he done more! Why had he not forcibly stopped her from participating? He himself had donated the broomstick, practically encouraging her to go too far! 

The funeral, he did not attend. He could not accept the cold finality of the event nor face her parents who, he felt, he had badly let down. Perhaps he had disappointed everyone. But most of all, Harry Potter knew he had failed his best friend: Hermione Granger.  


—oOo— 

  
  
  


|   
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	8. Trial by Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _So far... Hermione discovered from James's notes back in 1981 that the true Merlin's Blessing was a potion that must be drunk from a special chalice, Merlin's Cup, which she tricked Harry into drinking. Using a Time-turner, she foresaw her own death in the dragon task of the Triwizard Tournament but felt compelled to fulfil that destiny rather than risk tearing the fabric of Time. Now read on..._

* * *

  


  


| 

**Part 2: Past Imperfections**

  
  
  


**Chapter 8**

**Trial by Fire**

  
  
  


A Time for Reflection 

Nothing. No knowledge. No identity. No power. Only pain and, above all, confusion. Immersed in the dragon flames of hell, not knowing who she was or why or where, the girl could only suffer. 

As memories crawled back to her recollection, with them came her name — Hermione Granger — and demonic figures too — a multitude of them, all engaged in a ferocious battle. Yet within this chaos of fire, she perceived a dark shadowy figure approaching her. 

"What happened here?" A satanic voice, cold and pitiless. 

The demons, their attention now drawn towards the girl, ceased their fighting with each other and turned their malice in her direction. 

Hermione struggled to comprehend whose voice that was in the whirling fires. _Professor..._ Another name came to her... _Snape..._

She tried to shake her head to clear it but was hit with more discomfort between the eyes so severe that she closed them again. Her hand was stinging painfully too. Now she couldn't even see the blaze, only a confused mist... 

"Which of you is paired with Granger?" 

"Who'd pair with that filth?" someone sniggered softly on her right. 

"Nobody, Professor. Nobody ever pairs with Granger. They don't wish to be contaminated." 

_Was that Draco's voice?_

She eased her eyes open again a tiny gap. Through the fiery mist, she could see vague pale features framed by long, greasy dark hair — Snape was examining her expression very closely. 

"This girl has been Confunded — and done very badly!" sneered Professor Snape. "Who did this! The way this spell has been performed was both reckless and... wrong — Potter! Was this you?" 

"Not me, Professor, I was behind Group Two all the time." 

"Weasley then. What do you mean by this?" 

A faint memory came to Hermione's thoughts and the word formed on her lips. "F- Finn... gan," she heard herself mutter. 

"FINNEGAN!" bellowed Snape. "Detention! And twenty-five points from Gryffindor!" 

"Hem, hem!" It was a girlish voice, fluttery and high-pitched from somewhere behind Hermione. 

"I'm sure I must have misunderstood you, Professor Snape," she simpered. "So silly of me. But it sounded for a teensy moment as though you were suggesting a single detention would be sufficient for this unauthorised attack on another student?" 

"It is likely Granger provoked it. She is a... troublemaker, as you well know." 

"I see. But then does this not support my recommendations that the Defence class ought to be conducted in a safer, wand-free environment, would you agree?" 

Hermione never heard Snape's response. She felt herself swaying in a cloud of disordered perceptions, and the pain in her head was throbbing ferociously. 

"Crabbe! Take Granger to the hospital wing before she falls over and messes up my floor with her drool." 

She felt a meaty hand grab her arm and drag her away through the cloud. Her head whipped back by the sudden jolt and her headache swung back in full force. The whirling foam of hate-filled faces merged into one except for Seamus whose features swelled out from the background glare, mouthing at her as she went by, "I'll get you for this!" 

The hand let go of her in the corridor and commenced shoving her from behind. "Get going, Granger," said Crabbe. "I ain't gonna miss lunch because of you!" Another thrust in the back. She hit the edge of a doorframe and heard Crabbe sniggering behind her. 

Hustled up steps she could barely see, Hermione blinked in the Entrance Hall. _Christmas decorations at the end of November? Had she been in a coma for the last few weeks?_

Another push, very strong and focused this time in the middle of her back; it felt like a punch. She staggered on. More steps. Now she could smell his breath at her side and a leg came out without warning to trip her. Down she went and hit the stairs hard. 

"Oops!" Crabbe giggled like an eight-year-old. 

The lunch bell sounded. Crabbe grabbed her arm again and pulled her to her feet. He strode ahead dragging her along behind at breakneck speed, up the steps and along corridors until her mind was whirling and her arm felt as if it was being pulled out of its socket. 

Abruptly, they came to a halt. She heard him quickly mumble at someone Hermione could not see through her fuzzy senses — "She's been Confunded" — then he was gone with a door slam and a heavy tattoo of running feet fading into the distance. 

Hermione heard a sigh. 

"Sit down over here." It was Madam Pomfrey's voice. 

_Where? Does she mean me?_

There was another sigh and a new hand guided her — rather roughly, Hermione thought — to sit in a chair. A face swooped in and out of the flaming mist, and she heard a distinct swish. 

Abruptly the cloud and the headache were both gone and the hospital ward swam into view along with a clearing of her thoughts. Madam Pomfrey's wand lowered to Hermione's hand where it quickly drew away a filthy bandage and redressed it. 

"Drink this." An icy goblet was pushed into her other hand. It tasted stale and sharp and Hermione gagged a little as it oozed slowly down her throat: a thick, cold, bitter slime. Her eyes watered. 

"Am I badly burnt?" 

"Of course not! Wait there fifteen minutes, then you can go." 

If Hermione was able to reflect on the matter she would have observed and been puzzled by Pomfrey's coolness but she was being swamped by a surge of early, forgotten memories. A different hospital when she was only six. Her father's terminal illness. Her mother's nervous breakdown — ever bitter, remote, and empty after his death. In a way, her mother's sensible, outgoing personality had died with him — and something had died in Hermione too. 

She stared now at the dull grey-painted wall, remembering the dark and desperate isolation of her early youth, the savage wandless attacks on any Muggle classmate who let slip a careless word, the grey year in the remand centre... _Of course! that fool, Dumbledore, tricked me out of there into this infernal perdition he calls Hogwarts!_

Yes, her journey to the school had been the start of an even more severe decline in the quality of her life. Hermione had begun making tentative acquaintances on the train and they appreciated the way she had first helped Longbottom and then exploded that ridiculous toad in his face. It was especially sweet, she recalled, when he left the carriage in tears. _Pathetic crybaby,_ she sniggered to herself. But the memories turned sour when those with whom she had allied herself eventually learned the harsh facts of her Muggle parentage. 

Hermione leapt to her feet, then sank back down, still slightly dizzy with conflicting recollections and attitudes, shocked by some of her own feelings. She stood up again, swaying. 

"I said FIFTEEN minutes!" shouted Pomfrey, but Hermione was not listening; she was staring down at her robes and fighting within herself to comprehend inconsistent beliefs. She was comfortable with the fact that she had imploded her mother's television during a seventh birthday tantrum — it served her right for not buying Hermione the _Necromancy For Beginners_ that she really wanted. What troubled her was the memory of another seventh birthday in which she had been embraced by both her father and mother's love and presented with an enormous book of inexplicable, supernatural events and thus introduced to the possibility of magic, and thereby, an explanation for her own strange childhood experiences. What a delight! What a relief! She lowered herself down onto the seat again. 

Miserably she sat there for several minutes, working through each birthday memory and, finding two of each, both perfectly valid and real, she came to the conclusion that either there were two people sharing her body, or else she was completely mad. 

But no! She knew she had had but one twelfth birthday — just a few weeks ago. But even as she thought about it, there was doubt. Surely she was fifteen? Hermione squealed her confusion and ran to the ward's bathroom door, ignoring the matron's angry cries. Her body just did not feel right, as if she were overweight; had she been cursed with a fattening hex? Bracing against a wash basin, she stared into the chamber's wall mirror ... and paled. 

Slytherin robes she had already expected; her strange memories told her that. Tearing open the buttons revealed Hogwarts regulation-green underwear too, and she was not so unprepared as to be astonished by it. What did shock her was the face and figure revealed: they were not hers surely! The body was too full with over-rounded, swelling curves and an excessively plump stomach. Had someone cursed the flesh in order to humiliate her? Quickly she masked again her billows and bulges beneath the flowing robes. 

But there was no possibility of hiding her features. The face seemed older and lined with cruelty, the teeth now protruding more than ever. Her hair had no vitality; it was coarse, stringy, and wild. She had let herself go beyond recovery. 

"Such arrogance! Hurry it up, girl!" cried the mirror, "else I'll crack for sure!" 

What had happened to her? Had someone Obliviated her? Manipulated her mind and body? The moment she began to focus on the lost years then more memories began to return to her recollection — yet two of each year! In her third year last Christmas she had remained with Ron at Hogwarts to keep Harry company — yet she also remembered fleeing the hate-filled surroundings of the school to return, unwanted, to her stony-faced mother's home. _Or was that the year before?_ she asked herself. 

Who was she really? Was anything the same? She stared at her reflection. The faulty Time-turner was still hung around her neck. Lily's watch fit her now-pudgy wrist just as perfectly and her beaded bag remained anchored to her enlarged waistband, but otherwise all she had was conflicting memories and a different body. 

Was this hell? Was she condemned to relive her short life over and over as a penance for... had her commitment to continuing with the fated first task of the Tournament been a kind of suicide? Was that her sin? 

Ignoring the mirror's protestations, she struggled harder to remember. She had become fifteen years old two months ago and the first task had been at the end of November — had she forgotten or been unconscious for the two or three weeks after that? That would explain the decorations in the hall but why was she wearing Slytherin garments and why was Snape now teaching the Defence class instead of—? "Where is Professor Moody?" she asked herself aloud. 

"Murdered!" shrieked the mirror, "by Harry Potter!" 

Hermione fled screaming. 

  


The Darkest Night

Running through the hospital wing howling in panic turned out to be of help to Hermione. The matron insisted on keeping her in for the rest of the day and overnight for observation. This not only provided Hermione with an evasion of the remainder of the day's lessons that she had felt ill-prepared to face, it also gave her time to consider her previous life instead of focusing only on this new one. _Tomorrow will begin the Christmas holidays and everyone will be distracted by the Yule Ball preparations,_ she mused, _I'll have several days of freedom to work out what's happened to me over the last three weeks._

Well beyond the hour of curfew, from somewhere beyond the castle, perhaps through an opened window, drifted faint traces of _Silent Night_ sweetly sung by youthful voices. No accompaniment could be heard — just the well-known chorus to tug at her heartstrings. It affected Hermione, as if a glimpse of heavenly light had percolated briefly down through a temporary opening in a black cloud, down to where she dwelt in a very dark place. 

She still lay awake far past the faint tolling of twelve in the distant village, with only the hospital ward's night lantern for company. Back to her came thoughts of her quest for Merlin's Blessing. Had she not found it and given it to Harry? She remembered doing so, but which memories were real and which ones false? Professor Babbling's warning was remembered then. Had Merlin protected his dark spell with a curse which conjured up this current torment if misused? Yet she had felt so sure of the ingredients! Anyway, it had been Harry who had consumed the draught. Was it necessary that she be cursed so he be blessed? 

But her intentions had been honourable, she told herself. Surely trying to help Harry Potter did not deserve this fate? And where was he now? Azkaban for killing a teacher? Had her meddling changed his destiny? No, wait, had she not heard his voice in the Defence class? It hadn't sounded much like him. Perhaps she had misheard Snape? _Botter? Bottom? Had he said 'Longbottom' not 'wrong — Potter?'_ Thus her mind raced on and on. 

The gentle melody of the carol singers had long since faded leaving only an empty hush... 

Sniffling noises drew her out of her pondering. A nervous Hufflepuff first-year girl a couple of beds further along was the only other occupant of the ward. Her jaw was bound up with tape and she sounded thoroughly miserable. Hermione soon discovered the cause of her nerves. 

"Can't you sleep?" Hermione whispered sympathetically. 

The girl looked frightened and Hermione remembered her own reputation as a villain and a bully. She groaned inwardly, trying to think how to allay the girl's fears. 

"Going home tomorrow?" asked Hermione. 

There was no answer. 

"Can't you talk?" 

The girl's eyes bulged whitely. She whimpered something like, "...bit." 

"Then just tilt or turn your head or point," said Hermione. "Okay?" 

A tiny nod indicated agreement. 

"So, are you going home for Christmas?" 

The Hufflepuff turned her head. 

"Too bad," said Hermione. "Still, at least you'll have your parents come to see you. My parents might as well be..." 

The girl turned her head. 

"No? What do you mean? They're not coming?" 

"Nuh." It was a soft grunt. 

Hermione stared, thinking of Harry. "Orphan?" 

"Nuh." 

"Muggles, then?" 

Hermione could immediately see the evasive hesitation, the fear in those eyes shining in the darkness. 

Hermione quickly tried to reassure her. "Well, I'm Muggle-born, myself, but one's dead and one hates me." Hermione was surprised how emotionless she had been when she said it. Perhaps part of her didn't believe any of this actually existed. Her 'true' parents were still very real to her, as if they existed on some other plane. "How about you?" 

"Mmm." 

"Both of them? They're both Muggles?" 

"Mmm." 

A sudden thought occurred to Hermione. "Do they know what to do? I mean to come and see you?" Hermione sighed. "Not everyone reads the Hogwarts Students Guide. You really should. I've read it four times. Muggles have to have a special pass or they can't even see the castle. Matron might not know you're Muggle-born. Do your parents even know you're... Are you sick or...?" 

The girl moved an arm through the air then dropped it rapidly. 

"You fell?" 

"Mmm." 

The girl swept some imaginary crumbs off her bed with her hand. It was noticeable that she lay quite still and never moved her other arm. 

"Brush? Broomstick! You fell off your broomstick?" 

"Mmm." 

"I'm dreadful on a broomstick too. Always was. Harry... uuh... well, when you're better you really ought to practise very low and slow, almost touching the ground, so your feet and the bristles almost drag. That makes it very stable and will give you confidence. Someone taught me that." 

There was silence for a while. Not even an owl hooted in the crisp, snow-laden air outside. 

"I don't suppose you know what happened to Harry Potter do you? Where he is? I hurt my head," she added hastily, corkscrewing her finger towards her temple and lolling out her tongue to convey why she didn't know herself. 

"Mmm." The girl pointed up at an angle. 

For a brief moment, Hermione feared that Harry must have died in Azkaban for his crime and gone up to heaven. Had it then been Longbottom in Snape's class? She thought about the direction the girl was pointing for a while. "The Gryffindor Tower? He's still here? Still attending school?" 

"Mmm." 

Hermione rolled over onto her side to face the girl better. "So it's just a story that he killed Professor Moody?" 

"Mmm." There was a doubtful tone to modify the confirmation. 

"Some people think he did but they can't actually prove it?" 

"Mmm." 

"What do _you_ think?" 

"Uh-er." 

"You don't know? Any idea what happened?" 

The girl's head turned slightly to look at Hermione. Her mouth formed some vowels, "uh... oh... oo..." 

Hermione repeated these over and over in her head. "You-know-who! You're joking!" 

"Nuh." 

Hermione's face had lit up with excitement. "So, You-know-who, Moody, and Harry were together somewhere?" 

"Og... ee..." She pointed. 

Hermione couldn't understand this."It's a place? You're pointing to a place?" 

"Mmm." 

"In Hogwarts?" 

"Nuh." 

"Far away?" 

"Nuh." She pointed again. "Og... ee..." 

"Hogsmeade! Is that it?" Hermione quickly lowered her voice again to a soft whisper. "They were in Hogsmeade..." 

"Mmm." 

"So Moody died? What about You-know-who? Who said he was there? Did Harry say he was there?" 

"Mmm." 

"But nobody believed him?" 

"Nuh." 

"Figures." 

"Mmm." 

"Well, thank you," Hermione said politely. "Listen. I don't want to pry but would you like me to ask Madam Pomfrey for you? You know, to get a pass for your parents? So they can come, maybe stay over Christmas? They have to let them because it's a rule if someone's ill." 

The young girl's eyes filled with tears and she rubbed away in turn at both eyes with the one hand. 

Hermione glanced over her shoulder, slipped quickly out of bed then stopped abruptly. "May I come over?" 

"Mmm." 

Hermione sat on the bed beside the girl with one arm gently around her shoulder and holding the child's good hand with her other. That's when she noticed the lower part of the bedclothes were hovering an inch higher than the bed. Hermione lifted the coverlet slightly. There was heavy dressing on the girl's side and legs. Hermione guessed the charm was to keep the pressure off the injuries. 

"Pain?" 

"Meh." 

"Not too bad?" 

"Nuh." The girl pointed vaguely towards the bedside table. Hermione recognised two standard pain-frees and a big bottle of Skele-gro. 

"Still missing your mum and dad?" 

"Mmm." 

"The first few weeks away from home is the hardest but almost all first-years go home that Christmas. It must be extra difficult for you. But I promise you, the hurting does fade in time, and there are always people who care even if you can't see them." 

Hermione talked for a time until she felt sleepy. The young child, she then noticed, already had her eyes closed and there was a tiny smile on her lips. Perhaps it was being with a kindred spirit — two isolated children drawn together — but Hermione kissed her lightly on the forehead and whispered. "First thing in the morning I'll speak to Matron for you on my way out, I promise." 

  


Heartbreak Fast

Sitting at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall for breakfast was a curious experience for Hermione. It was not difficult to find a place apart from the others. Hermione had the impression she was close to where she normally sat anyway — two spaces away from the nearest edge of the main pack. 

Opposite, she watched the Gryffindor table as if observing them from a high orbit. None of them looked her way; Hermione Granger was nothing to them. Perhaps Seamus glared once but the tops of the heads that were probably Harry's and Ron's and Neville's did not tilt in her direction at all. It was a grim disinterest that hurt her deeply. To be virtually unknown to her friends was painful. Dumbledore was making announcements about how some of the students would be departing in an orderly manner for the station during the morning. She had never once considered returning home. It could never be her _real_ mother who would greet her. 

There was a hush, and Hermione tried to pay more attention to what the Headmaster was saying... 

"...is a very sad loss felt even more keenly because of the time of year, and she died overnight due to unforeseen complications, all alone here in our hospital wing. Our thoughts are with her family. Like most of her house, Mary was a hard worker and dedicated to bettering herself and those she loved. I ask that you keep her in your thoughts while we observe a minute's silence..." 

Hermione's mind froze — or as if it had been ripped out wholesale, and all that was left behind was a cold, empty space. Heads were bowed and never was the Great Hall quieter. She did not think upon what the Headmaster had said; for the whole of that minute she was unable to think at all. She became aware of huge hot tears rolling down her cheeks and the remembered sensation of a little hand in hers — and herself forgetting her promise to inform Madam Pomfrey to invite the girl's parents for Christmas. She became sure then, after those moments of agony, that Merlin's Blessing was, indeed, a most evil curse, and this place could be nowhere else but Hades beyond all hope. If not, then only one person in all the world could help her now... 

  


A Stone's Throw

"Merry Christmas morning to you, Harry." 

Harry Potter took a step back and blinked to see who it was. "Oh, hello, Luna. Yeah, Merry Christmas." 

"Going out for a walk?" 

The front doors of the Entrance Hall stood wide open before them and both wore their thickest travel cloaks but Harry suppressed his sarcasm; he knew Luna always meant well. "Er... yeah." 

"That's a pity, only... I brought you gifts." She patted the side of her bag. Luna looked around at the excited students milling to and fro in groups of chatter and laughter. She leaned forward conspiratorially. "I didn't think you'd like it to be too public." 

Harry stared at her. He really didn't want to go back to his common room; there were memories of Christmases past he did not wish to revive. And then there might be Ron and his brothers... "Erm... okay, come on then..." 

They walked down over the white-covered lawns, avoided the snowball fights, then slowed as they moved around the icy lake. As the shouts and cries behind them were softened by distance, the delicate squeaky-crunching of their boots in the thick snow became more prominent. 

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" she said. 

"Sorry? What?" 

"You're very sad, aren't you?" 

"Yeah, well..." 

"I'm truly sorry about Ginny." 

It was as if she had slapped him in the face. He stopped walking and stared hard into her eyes, the surface of his mind as frozen as the lake's. Then the stiffness in his shoulders eased a little and they resumed their walk. 

"Thanks." 

"You don't need to talk if you don't want to." 

_Straight to the point as usual_ he thought. 

"What will you do when the pain dies away?" she said, simply. "In the future, I mean? Who will you help?" 

Another slap in the face. He stopped again and looked at her. "Help?" he said weakly. "It's me that needs—" 

"We all need help, Harry, but we all need to _give_ help too." She slipped her arm through his and encouraged him to walk on. "But sometimes it hurts too much so we have to wait. Meanwhile, perhaps these might help a little..." 

She held out what at first he thought were a pair of her grubby radish earrings. His palm had come up automatically and she dropped them onto it. 

"What are they?" 

His other hand, the arm that Luna held, was trapped in his pocket. He did not remove it, did not probe what he held, but simply stared. They appeared to be a couple of old, dried, hard chunks of exotic vegetable, cut into two rings and magically interlinked in a pitifully obvious clichéd attempt to denote... 

"They're for friendship — the very closest of friendships," she added. 

"Erm... yeah, brilliant, Luna." He pretended to show interest in them for what he felt was a decent amount of time before thrusting them in his pocket and making a mental note to dump them in the lake sometime soon. 

"Time is a wonderful changer of things, don't you think, Harry?" Her smile was carried in her voice. "Look, we're almost halfway. I'm sure the second half will be quite different." 

He looked across the ice to the Forest. There was a beauty there he had not noticed earlier. 

Luna said, "She's in hell, you know." 

He flinched but did not stop walking. He had given up trying to second-guess Luna Lovegood. "Who?" 

"The evil one, of course. Your deadliest enemy." She said it in a lighthearted way, as if it were not really true, Harry noticed. 

"Oh, _her._ " He scowled, but Luna, at his side, could not see it, or if she did, she gave no indication. 

"Do you mind if I throw that stone?" she said suddenly, pointing at the ground. 

"What? ... Why? Erm... sure, go ahead." 

Luna bent down and took up a flattened rock about the size of a tablespoon portion. "It's quite a weight. You can hold it if you like." Her hand was held out and Harry took the stone without feeling manipulated. She looked up closely into his face. "Imagine having to carry that around all day." 

"Yeah, just imagine." He said it cynically, but somehow it was soothing being led along by this girl in a fairyland-no-consequences kind of way. He wondered vaguely whether it wouldn't hurt to keep the stupid rings as a daft souvenir of a drab, empty Christmas. 

"It's not important," she said, after a time. "You can throw it away if you really want to." 

"Sure, I don't suppose it matters." He looked across the ice for a direction to aim at. 

"Oh, _throwing_ it matters a lot," she said. 

"It does?" 

"Oh yes, getting rid of something that weighs you down but you don't really need; I think that matters, don't you?" 

He examined her expression; the large eyes bright, breath steaming gently from an innocent smile. Harry hefted the stone up and down in his hand, as boys do, to gauge the weight. 

There were extra blossoms of steaming breath as she opened her mouth to speak again, "Don't hold anything back, Harry. See where it leads you." 

They had begun to turn around the far side of the lake. He threw the small rock with a force that had been coiled up tightly over the last year, threw it back as hard as he could towards the hated castle where he had felt imprisoned in misery. The pebble skimmed, without bouncing, across the surface of the ice, until it disappeared from their perception. 

"I do that a lot," she said. "I broke one of the panes in a greenhouse once." 

Harry laughed then. "Thanks for the Christmas present, Luna." 

"Oh, that wasn't the main present. I got you something nice." 

She opened up her bag and delved inside. Harry hoped it wasn't anything that blithered. A hairbrush came out followed by something that resembled a large onion, and then by a large flat, brightly-coloured plastic carrier bag with _Cuddles4U_ on the side. "Perhaps you could slide it out?" 

He looked tentatively at the oniony-thing tucked under the arm of her cloak then at the hairbrush balanced halfway up her sleeve. "I collect Muggle carrier bags you see." 

He wondered if she really collected bags or if she was trying to spare him the embarrassment of bearing its message back into the school. Perhaps both were true, he mused. 

"Oh, right." He reached in and pulled out a ripped cellophane packet containing a cheap-looking, creased-up tee-shirt with what looked like _Fiends!_ on the chest while between that curious message and the waist, danced an assortment of little imps — they appeared to be angrily brandishing tridents at him. Harry wanted to sling it after the stone but he knew Luna's family weren't rich, and she meant well. 

"Erm... yeah, it's really great, Luna. Thanks." 

"Look on the back." She put her onion and brush away and closed her bag then looked up to see Harry's reaction. 

He made a smile. "It's erm... a lightning bolt... right in the back. Good one." 

"The tee-shirt is brand new but Daddy printed it up for me." She gazed dreamily towards the Forest for a second or two before continuing, "I drew it magically and he printed it on — you know, with a printing machine." — Harry nodded that he understood — "It seemed appropriate," she continued lightly. "It's probably too narrow around the chest but its extra long so it balances out, I suppose." 

"Er..." He turned it back over, pretending to examine it more closely. He suddenly saw the little demons were really jolly little children with impish grins and wearing various amusing Halloween guises. Some of them waved at him. He smoothed out the creases. Now unfolded, the message actually said _Friends!_

A tidal wave of emotion swept through Harry then and he released a long breath of mist that hung for a few moments in the still air. 

"It's clever isn't it?" she said. "I got the idea out of a story. So when you wear it, you put the past behind you and enjoy what's right in front of you. Oh look! There's Neville!" 

She waved but Harry kept his shining eyes averted towards his new shirt. He could hear footsteps trudging towards them but he did not look up. 

"Oh, you look different," said Luna. 

There was no answer. Harry did lift his head then. it was Neville sure enough, but with him was Hermione. 

"YOU!" he snarled. "What do _you_ want, Granger! Trying to spoil everyone's Christmas, are you? I was having a great time until now!" 

He saw her eyes flick briefly to Luna's gift and he found himself turning it over to hide the silly message, then he remembered what was on the back and obscured the lightning bolt too with his hand. Luna said nothing and Harry felt ashamed and angry and miserable all at the same time. 

"What'd you want to bring HER for, Neville?" 

"Said she wants to talk with you, kind of break the ice a bit." 

"Yeah? Well, I don't want to talk to her. Tell her to walk out onto the lake and jump up and down until the thaw then we'll both get what we want." 

"Harry..." said Luna. 

"WHAT!" he snapped. 

"The lake. Look at it." 

Harry blinked then turned to look where she was pointing. Lying on the ice beside Hermione was a large flat stone. 

"IT WAS YOU THAT SET THIS WHOLE THING UP!" he thundered at Luna. He flung the packeted shirt down at her feet. He fumbled for the pocket in which he had stashed the rings but his hands were too cold to find them. 

"Don't have a go at Luna!" cried Neville, in his angriest voice, advancing on Harry to glare right into his face. "She knew nothing about it! Couldn't have, could she? Granger's only just asked me!" 

"You threw the stone, Harry, not I," said Luna. "It led you here." 

"Oh, great!" snapped Harry, crossing his eyes and wiggling his arms madly. "Let's all go around throwing stupid stones and pretending it means something just because Loony—" 

Neville's lunging fist dislodged a tooth and caught Harry off-balance. Down he went. He spat out the bloody molar into the snow beside him where he lay sprawled. 

"Here's your Christmas present, Harry!" roared Neville. 

Something hit Harry on the top of the head. There was the sound of footsteps crunching away. Harry wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked up. Only Hermione Granger remained. She had still not spoken. 

Harry shook his head. "Don't you get it yet? How despised you are?" He hauled himself to his feet. 

"Please give me a chance to explain." 

He stomped off towards the castle. "Yeah, like you gave Ginny." 

She gathered Neville's and Luna's gifts and scurried along trying to keep up. "I'm truly sorry about Ginny." 

He stopped and rounded on her. "WHAT! How dare you! She left Hogwarts because of you! You know she nearly tried to kill herself, I suppose?" 

"Please let me talk to you, Harry; I want to explain — and I need your help." 

"Do NOT call me 'Harry' like we're friends; we'll never be friends." He stared at the packages she clutched to her chest. "Give me those! What the hell do you think you're doing with my stuff!" 

He snatched them from her and strode off. 

"But if you'd just let me talk!" 

"Yeah? More lies? Everyone knows the intricate deceptions you set up; the clever trickery — what is it this time? Lead me into an ambush?" 

"You can meet me anytime, anywhere — a place of your own choosing!" She ran slightly ahead and stopped to block and face him. "I'm begging... P- Potter." 

He stared at her for a few seconds but then his baffled expression was replaced by something more sinister. "Fine! You want to talk with me? Anywhere I choose? Any time?" 

"Yes." 

"Okay then. Gryffindor common room. Right now." A grim smile gave his face an evil look. 

Hermione blanched. "But..." Her mind filled with an image of the chamber packed with hostile students who would have all stayed for the Yule Ball. The image seemed suddenly out of kilter to her but she could not think why. 

"What's up? Won't your trap work in the camp of the enemy? Or is it that you're scared what they'll do to you?" 

He watched the fear in her expression deepen as she thought about the consequences and he smirked. 

Her voice trembled when she spoke. "W- well... alright th- then." 

Harry blinked rapidly and she could see the gap between his teeth as his jaw fell open in astonishment. He could not speak for a few seconds. "You're not... serious, surely?" 

She nodded. The steamy breath from her lips was coming more rapidly. 

"I can't... I _won't_ protect you, you know?" he said. 

"No. I understand." 

He pushed past her and strode off again. "You're mad!" 

She hurried after him. 

"Go away!" 

"You said I could!" 

"Lavender will scratch your eyes out!" 

"I don't care!" 

"Ron will..." He stopped again and turned. "Ron may actually kill you, you know that?" His eyes flicked inwardly for a moment. "He might even kill me for bringing you. And you'll be bloody lucky if Fred and George aren't there as well." 

"I'll do what I can to shield you," she said. 

A deep, incredulous frown almost closed Harry's eyes. "You'll ... do ... WHAT?" 

Off he went again. He ignored her breathless entreaties all the way in through the Entrance Hall and up the main staircase. By the time they had reached the Fat Lady portrait, she could barely gasp let alone speak. 

"Goodbye!" He shouted, as he entered. 

She pushed in after him. 

"Wha...?" He turned to glare. "Get out. You're not with me." 

"We have to talk. It's REALLY important!" 

"Oh, it's 'really' important, is it? Well in that case... welcome to hell..." 

  


The Lion's Den

For Hermione Granger, the Gryffindor common room was now like walking into a lion's den. Merry students in party hats and clutching gaudy packages froze their laughter to a cheerless silence as they stared back at her, frowning at the intrusion. A leaning and a turning flowed as a sullen wave through the throng in Hermione's direction. There were nowhere near as many students as she had expected to be staying for the ball on Christmas Day, nevertheless, the surge was getting over its initial astonishment and gathering in weight and hostility ready to break on Hermione's shore... 

"Over here!" cried Neville, still in his outdoor cloak. Luna was with him. She followed as he walked quickly over to the corner seating behind a stout pillar. 

Lavender Brown struggled up from her armchair onto crutches to see better. Her face was livid. Hermione anxiously rushed to join Neville and Luna. There were two short cushioned benches on either side of a table. Luna stood aside to let Hermione in to the far corner against the walls then sat beside her on the outside seat. Neville sat opposite Luna on the other side of the small table to block the spare seat. Hermione could tell they were trying to protect her. 

Harry, watching the proceeding from where he had paused mid-stride, growled to himself, "Fine! See if I care!" He flounced off to the cosy hearth, flung his travel cloak over a table choked with wrapping paper, and dropped onto the arm of a chair before the fire. 

"He'll come round," said Luna. 

Hermione turned her attention from the back of Harry's head to the couple with her and made a wry smile. "So... you two... erm... going together now?" 

Luna examined Hermione's face, unsure whether she was making fun. "We've been together all term." 

"Oh, no, I meant... to the ball. Going to the ball, I meant." 

Neville stare was now as intent as Luna's. He said, "Which?" 

Luna said calmly, "You are very mixed up, aren't you, Hermione?" 

"Which ball?" repeated Neville with a puzzled frown, wondering if he had forgotten it. 

"She means last year, Neville," said Luna, astutely. "Her mind's all fuzzed up, you can tell." 

She looked past Neville's head then took out her wand. She was just in time to cast a shield as Lavender came howling and staggering towards them like a crippled banshee. 

"I KNOOOOW IT WAS YOU!" 

Her hex was blocked by Luna's rapidly-cast defensive spray of bright colours and loud crackling sounds — Lavender shrieked her frustration but was held back. 

Hermione cringed down into her seat. She remembered then how she had jinxed the staircase in Gryffindor Tower a few days ago to trigger on Christmas eve. 

"You're right. It was me. I'm sorry, Lavender." 

Lavender's eyes flicked around wildly and her mouth seemed to be trying to form a hundred questions all at once. 

Katie called, "Come and sit down, Lavender, she's not worth it." 

Once Lavender was being guided away, sobbing, Luna said, "She's a bit upset." 

"Well yeah, the multiple fractures would do that," said Neville sourly, "She was almost as badly injured as that Hufflepuff girl who died the other day. Mind you, Ernie said _she_ was always sickly and there was an infection. Madam Pomfrey only let Lavender out because it's Christmas day." 

"Poor Mary," said Luna mournfully. "I wish she'd not been alone." 

Hermione felt a tug of emotion and looked away. She watched Lavender being helped painfully down into her chair again. "Seamus... Where's Seamus? I saw him in Defence class the other day." 

Neville said, "He's gone home for Christmas." 

"What! Just because Lavender can't dance? That's dreadful." Her gaze flicked to Harry who was still near the hearth but standing after watching the deflected attack. 

"That was last year that Seamus and Lavender went to the Yule Ball together," said Luna, softly. "You're still getting your years muddled up, I can tell." 

Hermione turned to look at her. "Luna, what did you just—?" 

"It's nineteen-ninety-five," said Luna, before Hermione could finish. She was looking with curiosity at the slender chain around Hermione's neck then her eyes flicked up suddenly. "Oh, here comes Harry! Act normal. Neville, let him by you then he can't escape too quickly if he changes his mind." 

Hermione wondered then why she remembered that Seamus had asked Lavender to the ball last week when she, herself, had died in the first task of the Tournament a month ago. Or had she? Every other memory was so confusing. How had she even known there would be a ball? She shook her head to try to clear it. 

"Move over a bit, please, Neville," said Harry, but Neville pointed that he wanted to sit opposite Luna. He stood away leaving Harry to slide reluctantly along the bench to the empty place opposite Hermione's corner where he slumped down miserably, looking as if he regretted coming. 

"Don't think I'm the slightest bit interested in what _you've_ got to say, Granger! I only came over because of these two. Sorry, Luna. Sorry, Neville. I've behaved like a prat." He held up the tee-shirt which he had extracted from its packet. "I do like it, Luna, honestly. It was just that it's a bit..." 

"Different? It's the colour isn't it? Yes, I wasn't sure about that either." 

Harry tried to understand that for a moment. "But it's white..." 

"Yes, I know what you're thinking — in some ways white is no better than a bright grey, isn't it? They had them in pink but I knew you'd have thought it silly in pink." 

"Yeah," said Harry. He lifted up a smart wooden box with brass trim and folded back the lid. "Thanks for the self-inking quill set, Neville. Oh yeah, and the lesson in manners." He grimaced and rubbed the bruise on his jaw. 

"No problem. The quills fold up into pocket quills, look. And did you see the penknife?" He pointed at the base of the quill stand. "There's a little thing that flips up..." 

"Oh yeah, neat." Harry pulled it out and examined its attachments. 

"It's for sharpening any quill pens, not just these," said Luna. 

"Er, yes, I got that." Harry smiled. "What's this one?" 

"Horse's hooves, getting stones out of," said Neville earnestly, "and that one's a corkscrew, that's a camping flint and striker, that one's erm... not sure..." 

"Muggle bottle opener," said Hermione. 

"You still here?" growled Harry, snapping shut the penknife and thrusting it angrily into the pocket of his jeans in case she tried to point out what the other tools on it were. 

"May I speak to you alone?" she said. "Please? I really do need your help." 

"No." 

Hermione looked at Luna and Neville, then made a decision. 

"This is in strict confidence then. Promise me nobody will tell anyone else." 

"No," said Harry, flatly. "Why should I?" 

"I promise," said Luna. 

Neville hesitated then nodded his head. 

"I'm not the Hermione Granger you know." 

Harry snorted. 

"I'm from another world." 

Harry rolled his eyes. He was about to make a rude gesture suggesting lunacy but then remembered Neville's punch. 

Hermione glanced worriedly at his expression then pressed on, "I... erm... you... uuh... I mean, _someone_ drank a... potion," she said hesitantly. 

"Not rehearsed this very well, have you?" sneered Harry. 

"Look, I'm truly sorry about what happened, even though..." She decided not to add, _it wasn't me._

"Even though you had a good laugh?" said Harry. "So who'd you Polyjuice to play my part? Draco?" 

"Draco loathes me. No, it was..." Her eyes widened as she recalled. "Crabbe." 

"Eugh, you snogged Crabbe all those times?" Neville smirked at Hermione. "How determined is that!" 

"Yeah," said Harry, "it must have made him vomit, you repulsive, buck-toothed, shaggy-haired, sallow, wrinkled-up bitch-witch! How'd you get him to do it, Granger? Money?" 

"No, I..." Hermione's face paled in horror then flushed a deep crimson. "Oh, my God, Oh, my God, Omigod! Omigod!" 

The other three stared at her. 

"You let him grope you, didn't you?" sneered Harry. "I knew it was worse than kissing. Ginny was broken-hearted by what she saw, could hardly speak. She never regarded me in the same way ever again." 

When Hermione looked up to nod, tears could be seen sparkling in her eyes. 

"Daddy told me only trash do that," said Luna, firmly. 

"Lu — _na_..." growled Neville, flushing slightly. 

"Oh, what _we_ do is not groping, Neville," she said serenely, "that's our special cuddling — and we don't cheat on each other which is a zillion times worse!" 

Neville's blush now matched Hermione's. 

"So, you deliberately let Ginny see that..." said Harry. His face was grim and he rubbed his bruised jaw as if remembering a much older painful blow. "So it seemed it was me fumbling you?" 

She nodded and lowered her head. 

"You foul bitch," he muttered. "And you come here expecting—" 

"Harry, we need to keep calm and polite and..." began Neville. 

"What do you get out of all these things that you do, Granger?" said Harry, contemptuously. 

"Nothing. Just... temporary, perverse, sick, shallow satisfaction, then" — she appeared to be drawing on many old memories — "weeks of misery until the next episode." 

Harry scrutinised her expression; his own was of bafflement. 

"You must be very, very unhappy," said Luna. 

With the back of her hands, Hermione began hastily wiping away the tears that were now silently flowing. 

"Good," said Harry. He gave a long, mock sigh. "What a pity it's all pretence." 

"Oh, you're being hateful, Harry," said Luna. 

"Look, she might take you in, but this is what she does." He rounded on Hermione again, and fired another broadside, "How long have you been preparing this performance, Granger? A month? Two? Setting me up for another humiliation? It's not going to work you know." 

Hermione shook her head. "You're not at all like this in my world." 

"There is no other world." 

"You, Ron, Neville, Dean, and Seamus, share the same dorm." 

"Oh, well done! There are only about, what... sixteen or seventeen fifth year Gryffindor boys and you know we five... well, we used to be more together... at mealtimes, I mean. Naturally that's because they put us together in one of the fifth-year dorms. Most everybody becomes buddies with their dorm mates." 

"Neville's bed is in the far corner with that mumbling plant thing on the west window ledge. You can see down to the lawns on that side where that big beech tree is." 

"You used a bloody broomstick to spy through the windows?" cried Harry. 

"Ron's bed is — or was — next to yours. He's got that little cupboard on the other side with the squeaky door. He sometimes put Scabbers on top of that in first and second years but he stopped in the following year when Crookshanks chased—." 

"When _who_?" laughed Harry, clearly enjoying what he saw as a previously-planned performance. 

"Crookshanks is... was my cat." 

"So what's that got to do with Ron?" 

"You were a Gryffindor weren't you?" said Luna suddenly. 

Hermione nodded. "I still am." 

Harry snorted so hard he had to take out his handkerchief. "That'll be the day." 

Hermione said, "The Sorting Hat wanted to put you in Slytherin, _Harr..._ Potter." 

Harry flared up. "Ron? You actually spoke to Ron?" 

"No! It was me you told," said Hermione. 

"Had to be Ron," Harry muttered to himself darkly, "I never told anyone else." He looked up quickly as though he had realised something. "He's been talking about me! I knew it! Ron's been spreading the dirt!" 

Hermione sighed. "I've never spoken to Ron in this world." 

"Of course you bloody haven't! Didn't need to! It's all over the school now is it? What else has he said about me?" 

"The Dursleys kept you locked up in a cupboard under the stairs." Instantly, Hermione regretted saying it. 

Neville and Luna stared at Harry in shock; his eyes were bulging with fierce emotion. "I'll kill Ron." 

"It wasn't Ron! YOU were the one who informed _me_ , Harry!" 

"Don't call me that! I told you!" He half rose from his seat. Neville flinched instinctively as if he were about to let Harry pass but Luna reached across the table to steady him. Harry had already sat down again. "There's nothing you can say that you couldn't have learnt some other way." 

Hermione sniffed back a sense of hopelessness and tried to think. 

"Here it comes," sneered Harry. "Here's the biggy! The big, hard-to-disprove proof that Hermione Granger is really an angel who has come down to earth to save us all." 

Hermione looked up. "There is one thing." She glanced at Luna and Neville. "But it's private." 

Harry pulled a face. "Of course it is. So you want me to go somewhere secretly where your friends are waiting? Is that the plan?" 

"I HAVEN'T GOT ANY F- FRIENDS YOU P- PRAT!" she cried, choking back a sob. She had resolved to be strong; she knew she had to be if she was to survive this hell. 

"And whose fault's that?" 

"Mine! It's my fault, alright!" 

"Yes, it is!" exulted Harry, but there was a tinge of surprise in his attitude. "Come on, tell everyone. If you think you know it all." 

"I can't, I promised you." 

"Ha!" scoffed Harry. 

"You wouldn't want everyone to know," said Hermione. 

"I've got nothing to he ashamed of I wouldn't want my friends to hear! "You're the one who needs to be ashamed!" 

Hermione took a deep breath. "It's about something you burned on a bonfire when you were nine years old." 

Harry's brows furrowed in puzzlement. "I burnt lots of stuff! I do lots of... things in the garden." 

"This was special, Harry. A special kind of..." 

Harry started to sneer then he frowned. Hermione could see he was apprehensive. 

"Write it down," said Luna. 

"What?" said Harry. 

"Hermione, write down Harry's secret so only he can see it." 

Hermione tore off some loose gift wrapping paper then looked at Neville's present to Harry. "Would you mind... Harry?" 

Harry glared but didn't prevent her taking one of his use-anywhere quills from Neville's gift. He watched while she wrote something, carefully covering the writing with the other hand. 

He did sneer then. "I'm only going to show these two after so we can all have a laugh." 

"Ten Galleons says you won't." 

Harry didn't answer but took the paper and made a big show of furtively leaning into the corner so nobody could see. When he turned back, his face was drained of all colour. 

"How?" 

"You told me, Harry," she said quietly. "While we were picking blackberries in the Weasleys' garden. 

He shook his head. "Me and Ginny picked blackberries, not you. And I never told her. I would never tell anyone. I never have told anyone." He shook his head again and read the message again and again as if he couldn't believe it. 

"How have you done this?" he said finally. 

"We shared our darkest secrets that day, Harry. We were best friends. I thought we were the best friends in all the world." 

He was still shaking his head and muttering. "I've never told a living soul. Never. Ever... There's no one I would tell this to..." 

He looked quickly around the chamber. "Is... is this all over the school now? Oh God, no..." 

"Nobody knows. I've never told a single person. I swore to you then and I swear now," said Hermione frantically, "I will never tell anyone — ever!" 

He looked up. "You got Snape to use Legilimency on me! You cow! That's the only way you could possibly know!" 

"Snape hates me, Harry!" 

"Don't call me that" snarled Harry with increased fury, "don't you dare! Don't you understand? Let me spell it out. I AM NOT YOUR FRIEND! I DO NOT WISH TO BE YOUR FRIEND. I WILL NEVER, EVER BE YOUR FRIEND, GRANGER! GET IT NOW? YOU THICK, FRIZZY-HEADED HALF-WITCH?" 

"Well then it's impossible to convince you because anything I say, you will find some other way I might have done it!" Hermione was in tears again. 

"Well good," leered Harry. He took out his wand and vanished the message into non-being. "And if anyone — and I mean absolutely anyone — gets to hear of this, then I'll do the same to you, I promise you that. It works both ways, Granger." 

He rose up to try to get by Neville. 

A pinpoint of bright hope seemed to light up within Hermione's mind. 

"What did you just say?" she said weakly. 

"You heard." He nudged with his knees against Neville and Neville started to inch along. 

"You called me a half-witch. Why did you call me that?" 

"Because you're a Muggle-born of course!" 

"And how would you know?" 

Harry gave a dry laugh. "D'uh!" 

"The whole school knows, Hermione," said Neville. He paused his wriggling along the bench for a moment then resumed. "Draco spread it around in our first year because he thought it was something shameful." 

But Hermione was not listening. "Not important. There's this... how can you do the same, _Harr_... uuh... Potter?" 

"What?" 

"You said, if I tell anyone your secret then you'd do the same to me." 

"You know damn well what I meant. ... Move it, Neville!" 

Again, Neville paused in his inching along the bench. Harry impatiently nudged him again with his knee. "Move, Neville. I want out!" 

"But tell me anyway... Harry," said Hermione. 

Harry scowled, irritated by Hermione and frustrated that he couldn't easily get by Neville. He felt trapped and blurted out as he tried to force his way past Neville, "Your secret, of course. Don't think because I'm a Gryffindor I won't do it either." 

"I've never told you my secret in this world, Harry." 

He turned then. After a few moments he slowly sank back down onto the bench. "You must have." 

"When? When could I ever had had the opportunity? We hardly ever have any contact except through verbal abuse! Why would I give you my darkest secret?" 

"That's right, Harry," said Luna. "Why would she?" 

His head turned to look blankly at the blonde girl's innocent expression. 

"You remember now... don't you, Harry?" said Hermione. 

"If this is a trick..." 

"It's not a trick, Harry. I swear." 

Clearly there was something that could not be reconciled in Harry's thinking. "It's impossible." 

"No, Harry. Flying on a broomstick is impossible — but it happens anyway." 

"The button off your cardigan..." he said finally. "How could someone like you be upset about that? Things you've done?" 

"You remember my feelings about it as well?" she said, astonished. 

"Worse thing you ever did... that really was the worst thing you've ever done..." 

Luna and Neville were watching Harry closely. He seemed to be gazing off into some unseen realm, baffled by what he was seeing. 

"It's not possible," he kept muttering. "A demonic Granger... then this..." He looked at Hermione. 

"Is it a dream memory? A false memory?" he murmured, half to himself. 

"How could it be? I just told you your own secret and you remembered mine — how could that be a dream?" 

He nodded, still lost in thought. "There... are some other memories..." 

"Yes?" she said. Her voice was very weak. 

"You and me..." He focused on her now. "We actually were... really close. How can that be?" 

There was a long, quiet, whimpering squeal from Hermione's throat. She longed to hug him but instead reached for her hankie and buried her face in it, shaking with emotion. 

"How can that be?" he repeated. An urge to comfort her arose within him and he fought it angrily away. "How can we have been close friends? It's not possible." 

There was a commotion in the common room beyond them. 

"It's lunchtime," said Neville standing up with Luna and moving out from the table. "We can't miss the Christmas feast." 

"So will you help me then? pleaded Hermione, gazing imploringly at Harry. 

He scooped up his gifts, slid out from the bench, then followed Neville, shaking his head as he did so. Hermione slumped back in her seat. She couldn't face Christmas dinner the way she felt right now. 

Harry hesitated halfway to the portrait hole then hurried a few steps back to utter in a loud stage-whisper, "Meet me at three this afternoon in the seventh floor corridor near the troll tapestry. And don't let anyone see you with me!" 

He left her to find her own way out. He rushed upstairs and opened his trunk. He put in the quill box then threw the tee-shirt on top. He was about to turn aside when he remembered the two interlinked veggy rings in his pocket. He pulled them out and slung them in, slammed the chest lid then raced downstairs to lose himself in the indulgence of a great turkey dinner. He wanted to forget all about Hermione Bloody Granger.  


—oOo— 

  
  
  


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